Bewitched
by lackinq
Summary: Plagued by confusingly terrifying dreams of being chased, Kurt must figure out who the creature is that pursues him all while unraveling who he actually is in the process. AN: Witches and Werewolves and all that supernatural jazz.
1. Chapter 1

_Kurt is running. Always running. He dashes through the lush forest of pine, their needles pricking his porcelain skin and their towering heights concealing his efforts in a dense guise of shadow. The earth is wet and soft; its contents flattening beneath his bare feet and toes. It only serves to slows him down as it seemingly wants to ensnare him in place. He never lets it. Kurt is exhausted; his lean muscles are used to running but it's been miles of difficult terrain and he knows he has to stop. But he's reluctant to give in to the unknown entity which chases him. Superficially, he's scared. It's the anonymity of Kurt's pursuer that bothers him the most. Deep within him he suspects he shouldn't be so terrified and sometimes he even wonders if the being that stalks his steps is somehow trying to help him. But Kurt is nothing if not prideful. His father always said he was too stubborn for his own good. Trust was a difficult concept for Kurt to grasp. Alas, tonight was not the time for trusting._

 _Kurt spun on his heel; his cerulean eyes searching the darkened forest for some place to hide. A small depression, just large enough for person, lay beneath a ledge of rock obscured by a thick underbrush. Kurt surveyed his surroundings once more, just now noticing the full, blood-red moon looming deep in the pitch-black night sky. There was nowhere else to hide. The sunken refuge of rock would have to do. Cursing quietly, Kurt quarantined himself in the cavity with haste. The overgrown vegetation acted as an inhibitory barrier from the outside world; a temporary reprieve from the chase. Kurt's ragged breath ghosted over his full, pink lips in small wisps of fog from the cool night air. He wills his body to stay still as he waits for something, or perhaps someone, to appear and discover his makeshift shelter._

 _Nothing comes except for a deafening howl of a lone wolf that pierces both the night and the deep recesses of Kurt's soul.  
_  
Kurt awakes with a strangled gasp as his palm clutches his throat. He's positively drenched in sweat as he attempts to catch his staggered breath and sporadic heartbeat. "What is wrong with me" Kurt exhales deeply in frustration. This god forsaken dream has plagued his nightly slumber for years now. He never understood why it manifests itself in the same form at least once a week. Bracing himself for the day to come, he made a mental note to talk to one of his psych professors who specialized in analyzing dreams. Perhaps they could figure out what they meant and why they persisted in torturing Kurt's treasured beauty rest.

Shaking off the nerves, Kurt proceeds to his shower to wash away the sweat and grime that his weekly nightmare provides. The scent of roses and honey from his, admittedly ridiculously expensive body-wash, fills his nose and travels with the steam coming from the scalding hot water. The scathing liquid seeps into his bones, relaxing his tense muscles. The nightmares always felt so scarily...real. Almost as if he were actually sprinting through those very forests he so incessantly loathed. Kurt's long and lean legs felt like jelly. The kind of physical sensation one gets after running an intense and athletically demanding marathon. But what unsettled Kurt the most was the conclusion of the nightmare. Even thinking of the howl, in all of its shrill clarity, sent a chilling shiver through him that settled at the base of his spine. Kurt thought it had sounded so pained and so etched with longing and desire. Almost as if it were searching for something, or someone, that had been lost for years and was passionately awaiting their return. With a shake of his head, Kurt attempted to banish the dream and the lone wolf, for that matter, from his mind.

He roughly toweled his body, which was tinged a slight pink from the hot water, as he got out of the shower. Kurt sat at his vanity stark naked, the creamy expanse of flesh positioned elegantly on the pristinely white papasan chair. The various bottles strewn across the tabletop were positioned neatly in order of use as Kurt began his extensive morning skin care routine. The last bottle, his favorite moisturizer with SPF for his painfully fair skin, was missing. Kurt grumbled in disapproval and willed the misplaced bottle to show itself. The morning had already gone awry with the nightmare, a missing skincare essential was just the overly saccharine icing on a terribly unappetizing and unwanted cake. Eyes closed in frustration, he breathed deeply to settle his perturbed nerves. Unnecessary stress was bad for the skin after all. When he opened them, he was shocked and puzzled to find the strayed moisturizer neatly tucked in the last row ready to be used. _Strange_ , Kurt thought to himself, _I must have missed it_.

Abandoning his initial confusion, he began to slather on a sizable amount on to his face. When he was done, Kurt admired his appearance that was reflected in the mirror. The flesh of his face, just like his body, was positively milky and devoid of any blemishes or marks. Thick, straight brows boyishly framed his otherwise soft and feminine face. His nose was slender and petite with a devastatingly adorable slope that rounded at its top. High cheekbones accentuated the regalness of his pronounced Elizabethan face with deliciously pink lips the color of fresh rose-buds not quite deepening into their deep red hues.

"You're entirely too pretty for your own good." Kurt muttered sardonically to himself. Kurt actually loved his admittedly elegantly delicate features. It gave him an androgynous quality that few people could possess let alone could pull off. Nevertheless, it often made people uncomfortable. Too pretty. Too girlish. It wasn't natural for a man too look like that. Everyone made sure he knew, of course. Kurt bared the emotional trauma to prove it. It affected his daily interactions with people as a child but altered itself into something else entirely in adulthood. He begrudgingly attracted all types of people. Man or woman, it didn't matter. They were often fooled by his demure looks and deceptively high voice. It made breaking the news to them all the more troublesome. While most people were unsettled by him, Kurt knew he held seductive power over people. It was hard to explain, even to himself. Whoever was held at the expense of his otherworldly blue-green orbs framed under thick lashes, was entranced with their gaze. It was often hard for them to reconcile their attraction to someone as different as Kurt. As a result, most people tried to steer clear of Kurt lest they be captured. Kurt preferred that they do. But he had to admit it was lonely. The duality of being both desirable and repulsive drained him.

Kurt peered into his sea-stained cerulean eyes and sighed. They were anchored by purplish bags that blossomed underneath his tired orbs. But his eyes held something deeper and more telling than Kurt cared to admit. They were full of longing and desire. Their perceptive gaze searching for something that was lost.

They carried the same pained note of the lone wolf that afflicted his dream. 


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hi,everyone. This is more of a chapter that establishes some prior context and does virtually nothing for the plot. I'm sorry i'm not getting to Klaine as quickly as some of you probably would like. This is my first real story and i have no idea where it's going. This chapter contains death. You've been warned. Please review. I would love critiques and ideas about where you guys want this story to go.**

Kurt's stomach was still reeling from this morning's odd string of events. The retched dream replays like some twisted slideshow in the theater of his mind. Why was some wolf, or worse, some creature so intent on stalking his every move? And why did it sound so painful. Kurt's heart twisted in empathy at his inner ramblings. With a sigh of confusion, he smoothed his russet-hued hair in his usual coif until he was satisfied. He pulled his favorite gray turtleneck with tiny flecks of black thread throughout the material over his head. Kurt paired the sweater with tight black skinny jeans and brown suede Chelsea boots. One final look in the mirror and he deemed himself presentable for the day to come. He nearly forgot to wear his lucky necklace; a jagged shard of fluorite framed by a silver clasp encircled around a thin, black leather cord. He wore the necklace faithfully for he had promised to uphold his late mother's dying wish.

* ~Flashback~*

Kurt never liked hospitals. They were entirely too large, and the smell of antiseptic made him feel nauseous. He especially didn't like them because his beloved mother had been here, cooped up in a hospital bed and not safe at home with him. Today the nurses looked at him with such pity. Their eyes were emphatically shining with it. Kurt was only six, but he was always a precociously perceptive child. He knew something was up. Today wasn't like the other visitation days. He looked up at his father for clues as to why. Burt's forest green orbs were dull and tired with streams of blood vessels that snaked their way through the whites of his eyes. He was completely and utterly burnt out. Kurt knew this. He loved his father will all his tiny heart, but he wasn't good at parenting. Not like Elizabeth. Kurt and Burt, despite the similarity of their namesakes, were two completely different souls. He wanted a son who enjoyed football. One who would curl up with his father to watch the latest sports game. What he got was one who would rather wield a teacup than a football and wear a sensible pair of heels rather than cleats. But god did he love that child regardless. He just didn't know how to. Not in the effortlessly graceful way Liz did. But he would have to learn. Especially after today.

"Hey, buddy. I have to talk to you before you see your mom. Man to man." Kurt looked deep into the depths of Burt's eyes to gage his seriousness in a manner that usually unnerved adults. Burt took a breath to steady himself and said, "Your mom isn't doing too well, kid. The doctors say- ", his breath caught in his throat as tears threatened to descend from his weary eyelids. Kurt placed his tiny, manicured hands on top of his fathers calloused and oil-stained palms.

"I know mommy is going to die. I've seen it in my dreams, daddy." Burt's straight brows, the only feature Kurt had inherited from him, furrowed together in bewilderment; almost like he was attempting to solve some impossible puzzle. Kurt knew what he said was true. Each time he visited his mother in the scant hospital bed the putrid scent of death had gotten progressively worse. The blackened aura of decay circled the outline of her body; a sight that Kurt had deduced only he could see. It saddened him profusely. So much so that it kept him up on the nights where sleep seemed to evade his tiny, tiny grasp.

"How? How did you kn-," Burt paused and then shook his head, "never mind. It doesn't matter. This is going to be hard, buddy. But it's time to say goodbye to your mother. I need you to be strong and brave for me. Can you do that, Kurt?" Burt's eyes searched desperately for Kurt's understanding of the brevity of their current predicament. He didn't know how to tell Kurt that his mother was dying of cancer let alone how he would react to Liz's last moments. It seemed as though he wouldn't have to.

"Don't worry, daddy. I'll be brave enough for the both of us. Remember, have courage." Kurt hugged his father with all his small self could muster and proceeded through the narrow hallway of the cancer ward leaving his father stunned in his absence. He stole glances in the doorways as he walked past. Most of the patients lay in their beds motionless, their frail bodies nothing more than glorified skeletons. Their souls, at least what was left, called out to him. He ignored them as best he could for saying his last goodbye to his mother was a more pressing matter. He stopped at door 306A. The plague on the wall next to it read Elizabeth Bishop-Hummel. Kurt walked in slow steps toward his mother.

It was glaringly apparent that Elizabeth Bishop-Hummel had seen better days. Her once beautiful heart-shaped face was riddled with wrinkles and sores, the skin stretched too thin over the gaunt contours of flesh. Various tubes snaked their way around what seemed to be her entire body. The heart monitor beside her bed steadily beeped like a metronome that counted the concluding beats of death. Elizabeth's dull sea-stained eyes, the only sign that life still persisted, peeled open at the sound of her only son's meager footsteps.

"Kurt, my beautiful Kurt," her tired voice rasped out. "To what do I owe for such a pleasure?" She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. Kurt took her frail hand, his fingers clasping her jointed ones, and gave a tight squeeze.

"Hello, mommy. I've come to visit you. Just like I always do." Kurt tried to sound upbeat but the weight of the situation that rested upon his small shoulders was simply too much. "I don't want to say goodbye. But I know that you're too tired and it would be selfish for me to want you to hang on any longer." His tears fell in fat drops on the floor as he tucked his head into his chin to avoid looking his dying mother in the face.

Elizabeth's gnarled fingers lifted his chin up to face her. Her unsteady hands cupped her son's cheek. "My precious Kurt. You were always so perceptive." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "So powerful and so young. It radiates all around your tiny little body." There was a pregnant pause as a mother basked in gazing upon her pride and joy for these fleeting, solitary moments. It broke her ailing heart that she wouldn't be around to teach him and to guide him through who he truly was and who he was to become. "You're special, Kurt. Always remember that. Don't ever let others dim the light that shines through you. Embrace it. You may not know it yet, but you are gifted beyond any our imaginations." Elizabeth held Kurt close and tried to infuse all the love and comfort she would never again be able to provide for her son. No one ever prepare a person to die. The ache that they feel when they realize their time is up and those closest to them must fend for themselves in their absence. No one ever prepares a child for what it's like to lose a parent for that matter either.

"I want you to listen to me carefully, darling." She looked into her son's eyes, the same color of her own, to ensure he understood. "The roads ahead of you will be confusing, dark, and treacherous. Let it wash over you and always keep your wits about you. When times are trouble, I want you to think and I want you to survive." Tears ran down both of their faces. This was it. The final moments between life and death were upon them. They both felt the energy crackle in the air around them. Elizabeth's frail hands reach under the blanket and unsheathed a necklace with a crystal that had swirls of blues, grays, and purples. Fluorite. Kurt recognized it from his mother's many crystals. She placed it in her son's small hands and enclosed it into his fist. "I want you to promise me, my darling, to never take this off. Ever. It will protect you. Always."

"I promise, mommy." Kurt's seriousness was evident even through the tears that continued to fall. He placed the cord around his neck and the crystal rested between his collar bones, just above his heart.

"I love you, Kurt. So, so much. I'm sorry I can't be here to watch you grow and thrive to the beautiful man I know you will become." Elizabeth's voice was getting weaker by the minute. The grip of death was so much tighter than she would have imagined. But she wasn't done prolonging the inevitable. Her work was not yet complete. "One last thing, my love. Always trust the chase for he will be the one to protect you." Kurt nodded despite his confusion at her cryptic message.

Elizabeth channeled her last breaths of life, and the dwindling magic that flowed through her veins, to conjure a single spell that would keep her son safe until _he_ came. Kurt whispered his last goodbyes into the crevice of his mother's neck as she repeated a chant in a language he did not recognize. The room pulsed with energized light as Kurt felt something deep in his chest. Something was binding itself to his soul; hiding what made him special from plain sight. It was the only way Elizabeth could protect her son from beyond the grave.

The binding spell was complete and so was Elizabeth's last moment in the plane of the living. She gave Kurt a searing kiss on the forehead as her final breath escaped the confines of her lips.

The monotonous flat line of the heart monitor hung deafeningly loud through the air as mother and son lay together for one final time. 


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt placed the laced crystal around his neck and lit the stove to boil water in the tea kettle. He opened the kitchen cabinet and fished out a packet of his favorite teabags- mint and lavender. Sitting at the dining room table, he peered out of the window as he waited for the water to boil. Kurt's apartment sat at the back of the complex and afforded him a few of the dense forest of pine trees. Kurt had loved the prospect of his home being so close to nature. It made him feel more grounded, the tall and ancient trees shrinking him beneath their breadth. There was also the air of inscrutability about them; like it dared you to meander through its perplexing maze of branches. Anybody could get lost in those woods if they let it. The hiss of the tea kettle abruptly shook Kurt from his musings, making him jump in sudden fright. He prepared his tea- a dash of milk and two sugars. He sat back at the table and pulled out his phone to check his emails as the scalding beverage cooled. Once his daily morning tea was finished, he donned a light coat and messenger bag to begin his day.

University of Washington's campus was strangely quiet on today's brisk Monday morning. Kurt suspected it had more to do with the inevitable hangovers his peers had left over from the weekends shenanigans. The sky was overcast as the sun hopelessly attempted to dislodge the gray clouds that blocked its rays. Such gloomy weather was to be expected in the wet state of Washington, Kurt thought quietly to himself. His fair skin would thank him later in life. The heel of Kurt's boots steadily tapped the stone pavers of the campus square as he made his way toward the library.

The air felt inexplicably mysterious as he continued to walk. Almost as if it were constructing itself around Kurt. The cherry blossoms that decorated the campus were beginning to die in the seasonal cooling of autumn. They were Kurt's favorite part of the campus. He swore if he looked closely that he could see them beginning to shrivel as their blossoms began to prepare for the onslaught of winter.

Suddenly Kurt felt a pair of eyes stalking his every move and he feet stilled. A shiver ran creeped over him and settled at the base of his spine. Someone was watching him. He was sure of it. But who? Kurt swiveled on his feet to survey his surroundings in hopes of finding the culprit.

The campus was just as desolate as it had been when he first arrived.

His fingers found their way around his necklace as they always did when Kurt was nervous. "Don't be ridiculous, Kurt." He mused in third person.

At last, his tired feet reached the entrance of the library to do some much-needed research. A history major's research, after all, was never done. It was a particularly grueling process of combing through dated texts and e-journals for relevant tidbits of information, but Kurt loved it. While history could sometimes be more conservative than he preferred, Kurt positively adored peering through the past and asking the important questions of why. And more importantly, how did the events of the past replicate themselves into the future. Kurt's latest historical kick just so happened to be early American history. He was inexplicably drawn to Salem, Massachusetts of all places. The allure of magic and witches felt entirely too campy for Kurt's taste. But he felt as though it was ripe for another round of historical reconsideration.

Kurt approached the front desk to check into the library and inwardly groaned. He cursed himself for not remembering Chandler of all people worked Monday's. Chandler was...exasperatingly nice. He was infatuated with Kurt and Kurt knew as much. He had danced around Chandler's affections since freshman year. He never did seem to get the hint that Kurt wasn't interested and today was no exception.

"Kurt! Fancy meeting you here, do you come here often." Chandler's moonstruck eyes were nauseating.

"You see me here every Monday, Chandler. You of all people should know a scholar's research is never done." Kurt smiled politely and was sure it didn't reach his eyes. Chandler didn't catch the annoyed tint to his tone and continued to ogle him.

"You look particularly lovely today. Is that a new sweater? It really brings out your eyes." Kurt's mind began to drift as it tuned out Chandlers annoying attempts at flirting. His eyes glazed over in disinterest and veered off into a different direction.

What he found was worlds beyond more infringing than whatever nonsense Chandler was spouting.

An unfamiliar man sat at Kurt's usual table. Normally Kurt would be peeved but the stranger was gorgeous. Kurt immediately noted his neatly cropped raven-hued curls that shone so dark it was almost blue. He stood up to stretch and Kurt almost fainted. He was above average in height, six feet at the very least with a broad, muscular build. His brawny forearms were covered in thick hair the same color of the coiled stands atop his head. His thick, triangular brows were scrunched in confusion as he leaned over the table to read what seemed to be a challenging text. His full, red-pink lips were framed by a deviously dark dusting of scruff. The stranger's tanned skin complimented his features beautifully. He was tall, dark, and handsome to a tee. I drank him in greedily, unashamed at my unabashed ogling.

My rapidly developing fantasies were rudely interrupted by Chandler snapping his frustratingly stubby fingers in my face.

"Kurt? Did you hear me? Are you feeling okay? You look little dazed." He looked genuinely concerned for Kurt's well-being. Kurt was still shaken by the gorgeous stranger when he replied.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm totally fine. Just peachy. Can you stamp me in for my usual texts?" Kurt said as he filled out the notary card.

"Sure, no problem. So I was thinking, did you maybe wanna get some coffe-"Chandler was interrupted by Kurt.

"Do you know who that man is at my usual table? I don't recognize him." He was shamelessly using Chandler for intel on the mysterious hottie.

"Who?" Chandler scanned the room and followed Kurt's gaze and huffed. "Oh him, I think he's a new transfer student named Blair or some stupid name like that. He's got some balls sitting in your seat. I ought to tell him to move. Do you want me to?" Chandlers tiny bird chest puffed out possessively. Kurt cringed.

"Oh, no need. I'll just find somewhere else to sit. Thanks for signing me in!" Kurt smiled, and Chandler was so captivated that he forgot all about his date proposal. Chandler sighed wistfully as Kurt strolled away with his signature strut that drove him wild. Kurt was more than thrilled to escape Chandler's clutches and he veered off to find a seat.

The stunning unidentified man nostrils flared as Kurt brushed by and he caught eyes with Kurt. Pools of liquid gold met sea stained orbs in a collision of spontaneous intimacy. Time seemed to be suspended for those brief moments of eye contact. Kurt's breath hitched in his throat. His eyes Kurt thought, so beautifully wild. They were truly extraordinary. There was an animalistic quality that couldn't possibly be human. Blair, or whatever his actual name was, was an otherworldly sight to behold. The stranger stared unflinchingly at Kurt, his incredible face stoically still. Kurt ducked his head to his chin to avoid his gaze as his fair cheeks flamed in embarrassment. He shook his head and made his way toward the history section, his mind enraptured in a giddy haze.

He sat at a nearby table and tried to pour himself into his research to rid his mind of the Adonis that occupied his usual seat. The words might as well have jumped off the page because none of them registered in Kurt's frazzled brain.

The only thing he could focus on was the stranger's eyes in all of their golden glory.

He never noticed the gentle hum of light that flickered in the crystal that was tied around his neck. 


	4. Chapter 4

**And so the plot thickens…**

 _The dreams were back with a vengeance and Kurt found himself once again running through the maze of the now familiar pine forest. Every step felt just as it had before, his bare heels digging into the soft earth, desperately seeking to escape the chase. The creature was closer this time around. It's heated breath licking at the nape of Kurt's neck, seemingly zeroing in on its prey. He didn't remember it ever being so close and it didn't terrify him nearly as much as it should have._

 _The blood moon, it's surface full and luminous, casted a red hue throughout the branches of the trees that fractured its limited light. Kurt rounded the corner, the same one from his previous dreams and looked for the crevice to hide. His heartbeat thudded against his rib cage as he waited. For what he did not know._

 _The shrill howl ripped through the still night air as expected. It still sounded pained but with a touch of finality. The predator had at last found its prey. But Kurt was still out of reach from it'a clutches. Kurt stood as still as his trembling body forbade him, his breath spurting out puffs of fog in the chilled air. He couldn't withstand the suspense. It was easier to trust the fate of the chase. Working up his fragile nerves, he pushed aside the underbrush blocking his hiding place and ventured a look outside. His heart plummeted to the depths of his stomach when he realized he wasn't alone. He heard a deep grumbling; like a large beast ragged breathing after stalking its prey. Kurt's eyes squinted together in an attempt to improve his limited vision in the pitch-black darkness. He could only make out one terrifyingly familiar feature._

 _Two gleaming pools of gold shined brilliantly in the dead of night._

 _And Kurt was caught in the cross-fire of its baleful stare.  
_  
Kurt awoke, just as he always did, covered in sweat. His erratic breath poured out in uneven spurts. "Those eyes", Kurt muttered plainly. They looked just like the mysterious man in the library. Kurt needed to get a grip on himself if the objects of his fantasies were interjecting themselves into his weekly nightmares. Kurt's body, primarily his lower regions, began to respond to thought of the aloof stranger interjecting himself into other more...carnal locations. His fair cheeks flamed in embarrassment. He had thought he left the hormonal teenage phase long behind him. The growing bulge in his pajama pants said otherwise.

Kurt opened his drawer to find to his favorite workout clothes to go for a much-needed run. The library and his research could wait. His body felt entirely too sporadic, like something underneath his skin was begging to be released. Running, as Kurt hoped, would perhaps help release the pent-up energy he was likely experiencing. His mind drifted to the stunning stranger once again. Kurt just couldn't stop; almost as if his brain were on a continuous loop of the raven-haired beauty.

On his way to the park, Kurt encountered his usually jovial acquaintance Frank. Frank was the resident homeless man with a heart of gold and a slight touch of what Kurt suspected to be schizophrenia. He always gave his friendly regards to Kurt whenever they crossed paths. He either quieted or amplified the voices depending on their reactions to Kurt. Kurt tried to always keep food or spare change on him for moments such as these. The world could be entirely too harsh to misunderstood people like Frank.

"Well, well. If it isn't the elegant Kurt." His homely brown eyes shined with friendly banter. "On a run I presume?"

"Your presumption, per the usual, are correct. And How is your day going?" Kurt smiled easily. Talking to Frank was always simple and enjoyable.

"Oh, just like all the others. Same shit, different toilet. You know the drill." They both shared a laugh at Frank's vulgarity. Kurt fished through the pocket of his track pants for his wallet and pulled a five-dollar bill. Frank's eye lit up. He was starving. Kurt could always tell the subtle pangs of hunger behind those awfully kind eyes. Their fingers briefly touched and something unexpected occurred.

Frank's eyes rolled back, and Kurt gasped in alarm. The brown irises glazed over with a milky-white film and his mouth twisted, uttering a language Kurt didn't recognize. A deep ominous voice, rough as gravel, spit itself out of Frank's mouth.

"Hello, Kurt. The voices tell me that you're the one we've all been waited for." Kurt's hand was shaking. He never saw Frank react like this before.

"Frank? Is this one of the voices in your head? You're scaring me." His high voice sputtered out in concern for both the elderly man and himself.

"Your mother says hi. She misses her darling dearest oh so much. She told me to tell you...to trust the chase." His cracked lips settling into a terse line as he took a pause. "The secret world of creatures have been waiting for your power to arise once again. The elements are strong within you, young one. Trust the black wolf. He will protect you and guide you on your magical journey. When gold and cerulean meet, the prophecy is catapulted into motion. Remember that." Frank's eyes returned to their normal brown and he passed out from exhaustion. Kurt's hands were shaking as he made sure the elderly man was still alive and breathing.

Kurt was visibly shaken, his already fair skin paled in shock. He never told Frank about his mother. How could he have possibly known what she said to Kurt on her deathbed. Frank had conjured up a deep well of pain that Kurt thought was good and buried. His heart ached at the thought of his precious mother who died far too young. He didn't understand what the old man meant either. He had no such elemental power or magic. Magical power was the thing of fairytales and the imaginative work of supernatural novels. It wasn't real.

With one last look at Frank, Kurt turned on unsteady legs to leave, his intentions for exercise diminishing with the strange encounter. He needed to caffeine to steady his unnerved feelings.

What troubled Kurt the most was that, deep down in the depths of his gut, he somehow believed whatever it was that possessed Frank. 

**I know, I know. No Klaine just yet. But don't worry, it's coming next chapter. Please review and offer critiques. They inspire me :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Kurt was still shaken to his core. His mind was fried; like eggs in a skillet. The thoughts racing at an alarming speed.

Power. His mother. Wolf.

Kurt couldn't make sense of it all. How would Frank know about his mother? And most of all, why did Kurt believe what he uttered so wholeheartedly. It felt so true, the marrow in his bones told him so. He needed coffee. Fast. He wandered the streets aimlessly. He eventually came across a small coffee shop. From the looks of it was a quaint mom and pop kind of joint. It felt more familiar and homely than a Starbucks.

The small bell above the door rang to signal his appearance. A small elderly woman with sepia-toned skin looked up from her worn book of cross-word puzzles. Her hazel eyes were bright and kind, an easy smile gracing her wrinkled face.

"Hello, mon cheri. I'm Cloetta, what can I do for you on this fine day?" A mild French accent littered her speech. It was comforting. Kurt was tempted to reply in French but thought against it.

"Hi, can I just have cup of coffee? Light and sweet, please." His voice shook, and a grim smile took its place.

"Sure thing, sweetie. Take a seat and I'll bring it you in just a moment." Kurt thanked her and made his way to the plush red leather booth. He toyed with a napkin in hopes to steady his shivering hands. Cloetta arrived sooner than Kurt expected with a cup of coffee and a snack plate with a pastry.

"I hope you don't mind but I gave you a scone. You looked like you needed a pick me up. It's on the house." Her wrinkled hands gently patted his in an unexpected maternal gesture. Kurt was touched, his cerulean eyes filling with tears. He breathed out a thank you. Cloetta gave him a small smile before rushing back to the counter to attend to another customer.

Kurt was picking apart his scone when the bell above the door caught his attention. His heart quickened when he saw that it was the mysterious man from the library. The raven-haired gentlemen sniffed, the nostrils of his aquiline nose flaring ever so slightly; just like they did in the library. It looked as though he was intent on looking for something, or more importantly, _someone._ He turned his gaze toward Kurt who quickly averted his eyes. It wasn't polite to stare. Especially at a presumably straight man of his size. Kurt heard his heavy, even strides before he saw him. When Kurt looked up, he stifled a moan. Christ, he was even more attractive up close. His vibrant, tawny eyes were absolutely wild. They reminded Kurt of the pine forest outside his apartment. Mysterious and dangerous; a place that Kurt would willingly lose himself in.

"Is this seat taken, Mr. Hummel?" The man's voice was rough as sand paper and deep, too. Kurt's knees would've buckled if he weren't sitting down. He briefly wondered he would sound like in the throes of passion; his mind reverting to his earlier perverted thoughts. Kurt mused what his own name would sound like rolling off Blaine's tongue. The delicious bass of his wrapping around the single syllable. He shivered, and a fire began to kindle in the deepest parts of his stomach, its flames licking at his loins.

Moments had past and Kurt seemed to forget the question. He blinked and hastily replied, "N-no, of course not. Please. Take a seat." He gestured to the opposing side of the booth in earnest. The man obliged, his long legs leaning in the booth; knees ever so slightly grazing Kurt's.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of introducing myself. My name is Blaine. Blaine Anderson." Blaine. What a beautiful name. The same name from one of Kurt's favorite movies as a child, Pretty in Pink. He watched it with his mother religiously, each time always gazing adoringly at the cliché bad boy lead. Although this Blaine was indefinitely more attractive than the actor in the movie. Kurt was tempted to repeat it out loud; rolling it on his tongue as if to familiarize himself with the man he was beginning to fantasize so much about. Blaine held his hand out for Kurt to presumably shake. The fair-skinned boy clumsily placed his limp hand in Blaine's. He always hated firm handshakes. Kurt always found them to be alarmingly excessive and hypermasculine. His father teased him relentlessly for it. Blaine didn't seem to mind. His rough, thick fingers grazed over Kurt's delicate digits. Kurt swore he felt a subtle jolt of electricity but ultimately ignored it.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Here I was thinking your name was Blair all this time." Kurt giggled at the confession. Blaine looked confused and Kurt clarified, "I had asked Chandler who you were. He told me, and I quote, Blair or something stupid like that." Kurt gingerly pick up his cup of coffee to ease the awkwardness he was feeling. This man did something to his nerves. He wanted everything he said to come out perfect; like the orchestrated dialogue from a movie script. Though Kurt knew better than to rely on life imitating art. Life was rarely ever like it was in the movies.

Blaine smiled, his eyes shining with mock offense. His lips curved upward, his exposed canines disturbingly sharp. They were awfully pronounced. Kurt's gut stirred at the abnormal dentition. He ignored it, too captivated by the blinding smile. "He told me to stay out your seat. I don't think your boyfriend likes me very much", Blaine's tone was teasing but his usually guarded eyes briefly darkened with some unknown emotion. Kurt snorted and nearly spit out his coffee.

"Chandler? My boyfriend? You wound me, sir." Kurt held his palm toward his heart for added comedic effect. Blaine let out a hearty chuckle that was deliciously deep. "Chandler is...annoyingly overzealous when it comes to his affection for me." Kurt admitted, his sea-stained eyes rolling.

"I bet you have that effect on a lot people." If Kurt didn't know any better, it sounded as if Blaine knew from experience. "He doesn't deserve you."

Kurt laughed and replied, "and what? You do?" He was mostly joking but was also curious at how Blaine would respond.

"Perhaps. Only time will tell, Kurt." Kurt shivered at Blaine uttering his namesake. It felt erotic; the way his dusty pink lips parted to form the singularly short syllable. Blaine's eyes, in their unnaturally golden hue, blazed with untold secrets. Kurt found himself longing to figure them out. Blaine was hiding something. Something big. Kurt just couldn't quite put his elegantly manicured finger on it. Not yet anyway. Blaine must have realized he revealed too much and a mask seemed to slide over his face; concealing his emotions. He cleared his throat and the flirtatious atmosphere diminished in mere passing of seconds.

"I'm lucky I saw you here today. I've been meaning to stop you at the library. I'm a fan of your work on the witch trials. Magic is such an utterly...fascinating subject."

Kurt's mouth went dry as his mind flickered to the earlier episode Frank seemed to be having. Magic was a touchy topic this morning. He smoothly replied, "It most definitely is. Although as an historian, I'm more tempted to analyze the perception of magic than the supernatural itself. And more specifically how those perceptions act as vehicles of the vast fields of human imagination and discrimination." Kurt stalled for a moment. He normally didn't speak so candid about his work. Most people tended to brush off his interest in seemingly objectively trivial matters of folklore and magic. He was used to aggressively defending his work from naysayers. Blaine seemed interested enough, the raven-haired man leaning into every word Kurt spoke as if he was looking for some obscure clue.

Blaine's watch beeped, and his hands dove into his pockets and fished out a business card and smoothly slid it over the coffee-stained table. "I have to go but I'd love to talk about it and pick your brain sometime. Give me a call." He seemed genuinely disappointed that our brief time together was being unceremoniously cut short. His eyes poured into Kurt's own. It was intensely intimate, and Kurt was beginning to realize Blaine would be difficult to say no to.

"Yeah, sure. Anything you want." Kurt replied breathlessly, his lips curling seductively into a grin. They exchanged goodbyes and Kurt ogled Blaine's shapely backside as he disappeared from the quaint coffee shop. Cloetta shared a knowing look with Kurt, her murky hazel eyes ablaze with unabated mirth.

Kurt ran his fingertips over the card with Blaine's number, his prior shaken mood long forgotten since the dark-haired man's appearance.

Blaine was still hiding something but Kurt was all the more content to ignore for the time being if it meant being able to get closer to his handsome acquaintance.

Later in the evening, long after Kurt left the coffee shop, he cuddled into bed with his phone in his hand. His fingers ghosted over the new number he placed in his contact list. He was almost compelled to press the call button. But Kurt knew it was entirely too soon and entirely too late to phone Blaine. He sighed and placed his phone on charge. He willed himself to sleep and his last remaining thoughts of consciousness revovled around the tall man with dark hair and golden eyes.

Outside, on the precipice between wilderness and civilization, a lone howl tore through the midnight air. Watchful, golden eyes settled patiently at the reflection of an apartment window.

Watching. Waiting. Wanting.

 **AN: Alas, Kurt and Blaine finally meet! Sorry if this feels rushed. I struggle with dialogue and organic pacing. I just wanted them to meet already, this is a Klaine fic after all. As always, reviews surrounding suggestions or critiques (positive or negative) are greatly appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt, per the usual, woke in a pool of salted moisture. His thin, dampened night shirt clinging to his thundering chest. The dreams persisted in their insistence on interfering with Kurt's sleep cycle. It was more or less the same as it always was. Kurt running wildly in the forest and hiding just as he always had. But there was one startling detail that made Kurt's body tremble.

He had finally saw the creature's face.

It was nothing at all Kurt would have expected, almost like something out of a bizarre supernatural film. He had anticipated that the predator that stalked his path was some sort of wolf. And given the consistent howling, he wasn't far off. But the creature was no ordinary wolf, if it were truly a wolf at all. Kurt's best guess deduced the predator to a werewolf. But it looked nothing like he what had seen in the campy movies Hollywood regularly churned out.

The werewolf, as Kurt suspected it was, was manlier in stature. His basic corporeal form suggesting traces of what could be a human being. But the comparison ended abruptly there. The rest of the creature was positively wolfish. Kurt's limited eye sight could scarcely make out the outlines of its face in vivid detail. From what he could remember, it's fur was dark as pitch and covered the entire expanse of its broadly muscular body. It was, for the most part, cropped closely towards it's skin but bloomed in puffs of thick fur at the mane that encircled its thick neck. What struck Kurt the most, however, was its beastly visage.

Its black ears were long and triangular as they sprouted outward from its head. Thick brows towered over deep-set eyes that shimmered in its familiarly golden hue. It's elongated snout was perhaps its most recognizably wolfish feature, a soft pallet of black flesh sitting on its end. Directly below was a terrifying set of jaws that were truly the stuff of nightmares. Jagged teeth jutted out of pink gums, their pointed tips glistening with saliva. The pronounced canines would surely be adept at slicing through flesh like a warmed knife through butter. The claws were another petrifying feature. They looked like nothing Kurt had ever seen before. No wolf or human had paws or hands like that. It looked more similar to the regular human anatomy of a hand, but the comparison ceased at the sheer massiveness of its palms. The nails at the end of the thick digits looked menacingly sharp, like it would tear away anything in its path at any moment's notice.

There was no doubt in Kurt's mind that this was a bonafide killing machine. The destruction it would be capable of alone made Kurt's heart sputter in terror. But miraculously he wasn't as scared of the beast itself. Not nearly as he should have been. The glint in its golden eye struck Kurt as rabidly possessive, like it would protect whichever being in front it without a second thought.

Kurt could only hope he was on the receiving end of such fierce protection.

Kurt tried to distance his mind from the dream as he strolled across the stone pavers on campus. He instead thought of Blaine. It had been two days since Kurt last saw him and he was beginning to get restless. His nerves tugged at his heart strings incessantly as a result of his sudden shyness. He was simply too nervous to press the call button on the number that Blaine had given him. The dark-haired man made him feel like a giddy teenager who was too scared to converse with his crush.

The doors to the library opened before he reached for the handle. Kurt was startled at the sudden change in position and looked up to see who it was. A blonde man with agreeable facial features was intently focused on talking, his cellular device neatly tucked toward his ears, his eyes not focused in front of him. They unceremoniously clashed into each other. Cold hands caught Kurt before he could fall backwards on the pavement. The other man's brow furrowed in frustration as he was geared to tell off the person who interrupted his phone call. It quickly smoothed out once he saw Kurt.

"You know what, Gary? I think I'm going to have to call you back. I just ran into something much, much more interesting than astrophysics." He said in a recognizably British accent. The man clicked off his phone and gave Kurt a dangerously slow once over. Kurt bristled in slight discomfort. "I'm so sorry for nearly knocking you over. The name's Adam. And who, pray tell, are you?" His startlingly blue eyes implored into Kurt's, like he was looking at a piece of treasure that he was intent on acquiring for himself. His fingers, cool as marble, lightly touched Kurt's. Kurt pulled them back quickly, his skin recoiling at the unnatural chill of the other man's touch.

"Um, Kurt. And it's okay. I'm always caught in my head or work as well. No harm, no foul." Kurt blushed as he replied politely. He hoped this Adam character would just return the favor and leave. He didn't.

"Kurt...as in Kurt Hummel? I've heard about some of your stuff. I normally think historical feminism to be such a dreary topic. The witch trials were such a banal moment in time." He paused for a moment. "Had I known you were this pretty I would have studied your work more intently." Adam licked his thin lips confidently as though he had not clearly insulted Kurt and his work. "Say, would you by any chance want to go out to dinner with me?"

Kurt's mouth dropped at the audacity. Before he could swiftly decline, a gruff voice cut into their admittedly one-sided conversation. "He's perfectly fine." A muscular forearm snaked its way around Kurt's lithe waist. Much to Kurt's delight, the voice and arm belonged to Blaine of all people. Kurt's body melted into the taller man's hulking frame. It felt deliciously right. Kurt briefly wondered what it would feel like to cuddle with this beautiful beast of a man. "Kurt will unfortunately have to decline your measly offer. He has plans." Blaine's eyes were wilder than usual as flames of jealousy erupted within the tawny orbs. Kurt thought Blaine must have been a convincing actor for putting on such a display. He hardly knew the man and he was protecting him from unwanted advances with a persuasive performance.

"Ah, I see. I wasn't aware Kurt was otherwise romantically inclined. Tis a pity." His eyes never left Blaine's. They were locked together in some unspoken challenge. Kurt shifted in discomfit at the blatant pissing contest taking place between the two men. Adam bravely turned to Kurt and said, "If this...unfortunate arrangement doesn't work out, do let me know." His eyes gleamed salaciously. Adam struck Kurt as one of those irritating people who absolutely thrived on getting the last word. Kurt rolled his eyes and watched as Adam turned on his heel to leave.

"Oh, and Kurt? It bears repeating that I'm truly sorry for almost knocking you over. I do hope you're not nearly as breakable as your porcelain skin suggests." Kurt's gut twisted, screaming in danger. Adam's parting message felt like a threat; A warning of some kind. It was completely out of left field and immensely strange. Adam didn't even know him. Beside Kurt, Blaine's eyes never left Adam's retreating figure. His muscular throat reverberated with a slight growl, his hands pushing Kurt deeper into his side. Kurt's straight eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Blaine was really committed to his spontaneous role of protector.

"You can let me go now Blaine, the creep is gone. Thanks for that by the way. I couldn't come up with a good excuse to get rid of him." My words cut off whatever reverie Blaine seemed to be caught under. He hastily withdrew his arm from my waist as if my body were made of scalding coals. His face smoothed over, a startlingly visage of calm collectedness.

"Right. I just didn't like the way he talked to you is all. He seemed like a real asshole." Blaine let out a small chuckle. It seemed forced, but Kurt didn't linger on that suspicion.

"He did, didn't he?" Kurt laughed in agreement hoping to soothe the awkwardness that inevitably clung to the air around them. Blaine held the door open for Kurt who graciously accepted the classic act of chivalry.

They both approached the front desk to check in. Kurt inwardly groaned at the presence of Chandler who perked up considerably at the sight of his crush.

"Hi, Chandler. Can I check out my usual?" Kurt kept his smile small in hopes of smothering unwanted attention. It didn't work.

"Well hello to you, too! I was just thinking about you. I was reading Romeo and Juliet. Have you heard of it?" Kurt blanched. He _so_ did not want to talk about Shakespeare most laughably well-known plays. Beside Kurt, Blaine snorted in undisguised amusement.

"Everyone with some semblance of a rudimentary education has heard of Romeo and Juliet, Chandler." Blaine muttered sardonically. Chandler huffed, and his cheeks flamed in anger at being so rudely interrupted.

"I was clearly talking to Kurt, Blair." Blaine eyes narrowed into slits, annoyance marring his beautiful face. Chandler rolled his eyes before turning back to Kurt. An easy smile smoothed over his face as he locked eyes with the object of his affections. "But anyway, I just love it. Forbidden Romance. Star-crossed lovers. It reminds me of someone I care for very, very deeply." He sighed wistfully, his obviousness quite apparent. Kurt felt as uncomfortable as he always had whenever he was in Chandler's general vicinity.

"That's sounds truly...riveting." Kurt replied dryly. "As much as I would love to chat about Shakespeare, I'm desperately behind on research. Be a doll and sign us in?" Kurt batted his thick eyelashes for added effect and turned on his heel. Blaine followed closely behind. Chandler was so stunned he didn't realize Kurt was leaving before it was too late.

"Jeez, he really has it bad for you, huh?" Blaine nudged Kurt with an elbow and a wink.

"Unfortunately. It makes coming to the library such a hassle. I should honestly stage an intervention for him." Kurt chuckled and placed his bag at his usual table and looked up at Blaine. "Sit with me?" Blaine nodded and slid into the seat next to Kurt. "I'll be right back, I have to check out some journals."

He would finally be delving into the personal journals of one Sarah Wildes. She was one of the women that had been accused of witchcraft during the trials in Salem. He was hoping to gain an insight into her everyday life for clues as to how she got entangled in the suspicion that led to her inevitable execution.

He returned with his copy of the transcribed journals and plopped it on the table. Blaine glanced at him curiously but remained silent as he was seemingly engrossed with his own research.

Kurt opened the first page and gasped. It was only an inventory of plants and herbs yielded from a garden. But the books itself seemed to breathe with life. It's pages sighing and glowing ever so slightly. He blinked, hoping that he wasn't going crazy. Pages of books didn't just have a mind of their own. He glanced at Blaine would didn't seem to notice something was awry. Kurt placed his palm to steady the floating pages. It was a mistake. He felt his eyes glaze over, enshrouding his vision in darkness as he was taken to some other place in time.

He had a bird's eye view of a series of scenes that flickered together in one fast motion. He saw what he presumed to be Sara. She was drying herbs she had picked from her garden and then placing them in a large cauldron, heating the metal container over an open fire. She was reciting something from some kind tattered tomb. _A grimoire_ , a voice whispered in the shadows.

Another scene flickered forward. This time he not only saw Sarah but a gathering of other women. _A coven._ All of them looked at each other intently; an atmosphere of unease clouding around them. They huddled together in a circle around a pentagram, arms stretching toward the heavens and their lips uttering a chant of some sort. One women began convulsing, her eyes glazing over. Her mouth twisted as words seemed to be pouring out of her. Kurt couldn't make out what she was saying. But by the looks of the other women it seemed important. The same voice whispered, _Witch._ _Wolf._ _Prophecy_. _Kurt. Bl_ \- the grim voice was beginning to say another name before he heard a deep voice calling out his name.

Kurt's vision was interrupted. The air around him swooshed like a duvet unfurling over a bed. Blaine's hand rested on Kurt's as if he were trying to capture his attention. It seemed to have worked. Kurt's breathing was labored, his necklace warming against his sternum.

Blaine's eyes were pouring into Kurt's, the golden orbs gravely serious.

"Kurt, I think we should talk." 

**AN: And so, the plot thickens! Next chapter should be about Blaine telling Kurt about who he really is. I don't know how I'm going to accomplish that, but it'll come to me. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and possessive Blaine. There's a reason for that. Like always, reviews keep me going. I'd love some suggestions about where you guys want this to go. 3**


	7. Chapter 7

"Blaine, don't frown so hard. You'll get wrinkles." Kurt attempted a light-hearted joke to elevate the suddenly heavy air that settled around the two men. He reached his elegant hand toward Blaine's eyebrows, the dark crowding of hair which furrowed fiercely together, and smoothed the worried lines away. Kurt found that he didn't like seeing him so frazzled and concerned. The raven-haired man closed his eyes briefly, an aura of fleeting serenity washing over him. Kurt's nail softly grazed across the dark brow and across Blaine's temple before settling on his scruff covered jaw.

He withdrew his hand with haste. It was entirely too intimate. Too close. Blaine's golden orbs opened, concern once again flooding his heated gaze.

"Kurt, we really should talk. In private. It's serious." Kurt tried to will himself to come up with a witty one-liner to ease the sudden tension. Nothing surfaced. The expression Blaine bore was dreadfully grave and it made Kurt shiver. The shoe was about to drop. Kurt didn't know why or how. But something was going on with him. The prior events with Frank, the dreams, his few and far between meetings with Blaine and now, the strange vision were all omens to some undisclosed fate. Kurt's gut clenched, butterflies eating away at his last remaining nerves.

Something was stirring deep beneath the earth. Something primal. And it was something that made Kurt's bones chatter in warning. As he stared at Blaine, he swore he could feel tremors at the balls of his feet. A cage was opening; its weathered hinges slowly but surely being pried ajar. What that cage contained was unbeknownst to Kurt. But whatever it was, it held power. An ancient authority, long ago forgotten, brewed deep in the undiscoverable depths. Whatever it was, it was collecting its strength. It's sycophants positioning themselves onto its lap as they jostled against each other for a minor taste of mortal power.

Kurt didn't know where these surges of thoughts came from. They were immediate and innate; never consciously being thought of. They merely inserted themselves into his stream of consciousness on their own accord. They started when he touched Sarah Wilde's journal and was transported into a seemingly other world in another moment in time. A flood of knowledge, long ago suppressed, had seemed washed over his brain. Thoughts that were likely not even his, collected in puddles, patiently waiting to be stepped in.

 _Visions, Kurt_. The same dark voice whispered from the shadows of his mind. _Trust them. Trust them as you will with the wolf._

Kurt was officially going batshit insane. He was sure of it. But he still trusted the voice that exposed itself within his thoughts. The same way he trusted Blaine without knowing him from a can of paint. He swallowed harshly, his adam's apple slightly dipping in the middle of his long throat.

"Sure, yeah. We can go back to my place. Away from...prying eyes and ears." Kurt finally muttered.

Kurt's hand settled on the brass doorknob to his apartment. No one had ever been to his apartment apart from himself and his landlord. It felt strange. He felt...severely exposed; the person who he was outside of the academy and public life laid bare before another person. The layers that Kurt constructed for himself slowly peeled away with the turn of the handle. He reluctantly walked in with Blaine closely at his heel.

" Oh, take your shoes off, please. I like to keep the floor clean. The wood is pristine. And original." Kurt smiled, sheepishly averting his eyes from his guest. Blaine obliged his request and scanned the room in earnest, a deep inhale breathing into his flared nostrils.

"It smells like you." Kurt blinked at the oddity of such a statement.

"Oh, thanks. It's Chanel number five. A classic rich bitch scent, right?" Kurt joked, an uneasy laugh erupting from within his throat.

"No..." Blaine paused, as if he trying to figure out how to mince his response. After a moment, resignation dawned on his face and he followed with, "it smells like the real you. Untouched by man-made chemicals that ruin the sense of smell."

Kurt snorted. "That's hilarious. Don't tell me you're a vegan or an anti-vaxxer or some preposterous shit like that." They both shared a laugh, letting the unsteady rapport build between them.

"No, I'm afraid I'm far too muscular to be a vegan. As for vaccinations...I'm not particularly a fan of measles or polio." Blaine continued the joke, but Kurt's mind wandered elsewhere. Like what it would feel like to caress and be held by the taller man's hulking, muscled embrace. Kurt blinked in an attempt for the steamy thoughts to dissipate themselves back into the abyss of his fantasies.

"You must have a thing for smells. I'm curious." Kurt licked his lips, surprised by how erotic this made him feel. "What do I smell like?" He looked up coyly at Blaine from under his lashes. Blaine's gaze bore into Kurt's own, not letting the fair skinned man escape from the intimacy that was currently taking place.

Blaine licked his dusty pink lips and they parted beautifully. "You smell like...honeysuckle. But not just any honeysuckle. The kind that gets caught in the crossfire of the morning dew with rain drops sprinkled delicately on their petals. Defying gravity as the humidity amplifies their aroma as the morning sky slowly breaks open with light. Oh, and touch of leather too, with subtle notes of roses." Blaine said it so matter-of-factly…like it wasn't an innately erotic and romantic message to convey.

Kurt was stunned. It was such a vivid picture that Blaine had painted. It appeared clear as day in his mind. He was flattered, slightly turned on, but ultimately overwhelmed by the stark details. Blaine hardly knew him. He was barely ever _that_ close in proximity to Kurt to describe his seemingly inherent signature scent. _His olfactory sensors must be on some serious Guinness World Records type shit_ , Kurt mused inwardly. _Or perhaps his sense of smell is something entirely not of this world_ , the shadowed voice from before uttered. It continued to taunt Kurt with its obtrusive interjections. He did his best to ignore it.

"Well. I must give it to you. That's smoother than fucking velvet." Kurt paused, a smile playing at his lips. "Or are you velour?"

Blaine was confused, apparently oblivious between the two. "What's the difference?"

"Only any and everything. One is a luxury; an investment of quality. The other is a cheap imitation. A facade of the real thing. Which one are you?"

"One would only hope I am strictly the former, Kurt." Blaine's lips wrapped around the name in ways that stirred Kurt's emotions like no other had before. They stared at each other for a heated moment; each other eyes transfixed on each other's full lips.

Kurt was the first to break it. "So, what exactly did you want to discuss with me that had to be oh so private." He implored as he made his way to the couch, waving his arm to gesture Blaine to join him.

"I wanted to ask you something about your work. Why witches? Do you feel...somehow connected to them?"

"Like I said before, I'm interested in exploring the perspective dynamics of how narratives of witchcraft are imposed onto people, particularly women, who go against the societal grain so-to-speak."

"And what would say that precise element of perception is?"

Kurt stalled. He racked his brain for research points he had made in his academic papers. Once he had recollected enough of his work he replied, "Fear. The precise element is fear. Fear is a vehicle that often acts as a transformative process. It's responsible for, at our most basic instincts, survival. We fight, or we flee out of self-perseverance. All driven by the force that is fear." Kurt inhaled, preparing himself to disclose his academic truth in front of someone who seemed to be genuinely interested. "There's legitimately warranted fear, precisely the type I just described. And then there's the fear of witches. This particular type of panic exists outside of logic; it exists outside of mere self-preservation. It manifests itself in the desire to consume and to overcome people that are deemed as inherently fearful. A superimposed danger, with a distinct script of what _is_ and what _is not_ agreeable. The fear of witches is essentially an intricately crafted ploy to assume control. It's not really a fear of witches themselves but the influence that those in power would have to relinquish lest individuals, such as metaphorical witches, successfully overthrow their rules of social governing." Kurt's throat was dry. His spoken proposals always read like novels and left his tongue perpetually exhausted from twisting around too many words in too brief of time.

"That was...really fucking brilliant, Kurt." Blaine eyes shined in authentic praise which made Kurt's cheeks redden instantly. "Do you think witches are real?" Blaine was perched on the edge of his seat as if he was about to solve some unknowable mystery.

"Like wiccans? Of course they exist. Pagan religions are still practiced throughout the world today, Blaine. Surely you know that." Kurt had a feeling that that wasn't what Blaine meant. He just wanted to ignore the sinking he felt in his stomach.

"No, you misunderstood. I'm talking about full on Harry Potter, Hocus Pocus, magic and spell wielding witches. Do you believe that creatures such as they exist? And not just in the confines of narrow-minded people in power?" Blaine was deathly sincere. What was he trying to accomplish?

"Witches such as those don't exist, Blaine. They're merely concepts. Ideas. Fabrications made up by people who need to convince themselves of the threats to their social order via supernatural interference. An enemy that is ultimately to be snuffed out by flame. Hence the witch trials." Kurt's voice shook reluctantly, displaying the unease at which he felt at the current direction of conversation. The strange voice, the same one that beckoned his mind from the shadows, began to breathe to life. _You don't really believe that, do you Kurt? You know it's not true. Deep, deep, deep down you know the truth_. A bejeweled laughter sparkled in echoes that surrounded Kurt's mind.

"Kurt…" Blaine looked torn, his beautiful face twisted in consternation. His mouth opened and closed several times as he searched for the words to say. "There's a world of creatures out there that you know absolutely nothing about." Blaine's hands found their way to Kurt's, the rough calluses brushing up against small, smooth palms.

"Creatures? You sound like a cheesy episode of Supernatural or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The latter, by the way, is 90's excellence. Who doesn't love Sarah Michelle Geller?" Kurt laughed. Blaine didn't. The paler man sighed, exasperated at the unease at what he was being told. "Next you'll tell me vampires or werewolves exist to. You're a bit late for that trend. The twilight franchise died out years ago. Try fanfiction." He commented dryly, not sounding nearly as confident as he should have. His curt responses, riddled with biting one-liners, were a poor defense to his obvious discomfort.

"They do, Kurt. And you're one of them. You don't know it yet, but you're a witch. A true witch through and through." _Listen to him, Kur_ t. The shadowed voice whispered against Kurt's ears once again. Kurt wanted so desperately to tell it to shut up. To lock it away in a box never to be opened again. Boxes were always tricky. So long as there are boxes, there will always be a host of curious Pandora's willing to open them. He knew this wasn't something he could compartmentalize. The necklace that hung loosely around his neck seared with a heated agreement.

Kurt blanched. And not because what Blaine was saying was so factually implausible.

But mostly because he truly believed what Blaine said with every ounce of his staggered heart.

 **AN: I hope you guys enjoyed the big reveal. This was super hard for me to write considering I don't know exactly what type of lore I'll be focusing on. Sorry if the whole "creatures" thing seems vague. I hope to have. Blaine answer all those questions for Kurt in the next chapter. As always, please favorite and review this story. Positive (or negative) critiques keep me going. Love 3**


	8. Chapter 8

"What do you mean I'm a fucking witch?" Kurt's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, exasperated at what Blaine just told him. "You're cute and all but I think you need a head scan. I've heard asinine thoughts are a symptom of brain tumors." Blaine sat at Kurt's side patiently, letting the pale man run through the motions. The motions, it seemed, consisted of Kurt throwing out barbed insults questioning Blaine's sanity. His face had settled into a passive slate of inscrutable calmness. He let Kurt express his emotions, his pale face reddening in shock and distress. It was as though finding out you're a witch was like coming to terms with the various stages of grief. Kurt seemed to have went from denial straight intro anger.

"Witches, werewolves and vampires oh my. What kind of twisted Wizards of Oz nonsense is this. You've gotta be out of your fucking mind." Kurt had gotten up, his tirade still in full effect. He stomped his feet toward the kitchen, wanting to put as much space as possible between him and Blaine. It didn't work. Kurt opened the cabinet that contained his various teas. He needed something to drink; something tangible to hold in his hands. Everything felt like it was out of his grip, slowly slipping through his incapable fingers. _Choose chamomile, it will calm your nerves, so you think more clearly_ , the shadowed voice calmly whispered. Kurt screamed in frustration. His manicured nails turned white as his palms gripped the sides of his temples.

A sob tore through him as his entire body shook with rage. He didn't want what Blaine said to be true. _But it is, Kurt_. "Get out of my fucking head!" His nails dug into his ears, desperately wanting to scratch out the voice. His mind felt like it was caught in a tug of war between himself and some unknown entity; both parties intent on battling for complete control of his thoughts.

"Kurt." Blaine's voice was laced with caution. He slowly approached the pale man as if he were some frightened animal being backed into a corner. He kept his footsteps light and airy, not wanting to spook Kurt with any sudden movements. He just needed to get closer to him before it was too late.

Kurt opened his sea-stained eyes, tears clouding his vision. He looked down at Blaine, which befuddled Kurt's tired brain. Blaine was taller than Kurt by a good three or four inches. Blaine closed the distance between them before Kurt could look down.

When Kurt did, what he saw made his already shit day get even shittier. His dainty feet dangled lifelessly a few inches above the ground. He was levitating. The necklace around his neck illuminated the dimly lit room, it's light dancing with the shadows on the walls. His fair skin, pale as cream, positively gleamed. Elemental power crackled at the surface of his skin; immediately ready to be released on command. "What absolute madness." Another tear escaped, the finality of his predicament settling in his gut and on the kitchen floor. He tried to breathe but his lungs refused him the luxury.

Kurt's eyes rolled to back of his head. He fainted and the air underneath that suspended him above the ground was snuffed out with a resounding _whoosh_.

Blaine's strong arms caught Kurt's lithe body and broke his fall in the nick of time.

Blaine held Kurt close to his chest, hooking his arms under the smaller man's lean legs and his upper back. Bridal style. Even though the circumstances weren't ideal, Blaine relished being so close to the smaller man. The way Kurt's body melted into his stoked a scalding fire that burned deep within his soul. He listened for the other man's pulse, his enhanced hearing detecting it easily. Steady, just a tad irregular from stress.

He felt compelled to sneak a sniff, his aquiline nose settling into the base of Kurt's throat. His scent was strongest there. Blaine's nostrils flared as Kurt's delicious smell of honeysuckle and roses surrounded his senses. It immediately relaxed him, his body shuddering in satisfaction. He withdrew, albeit reluctantly, away from the pale man's facial vicinity.

Blaine jostled Kurt's weight as he pushed Kurt's bedroom door open. He pulled the duvet down and he gingerly placed the other man on the mattress. He covered Kurt, who seemed to stir in distress the moment he left Blaine's arms. His eyelids flickered rapidly. He was dreaming. "Blaine...something is coming. I need you." Kurt said amid sleep. Apparently, he was dreaming about Blaine. Blaine tried to suppress the protective streak that surged through him, but his chest puffed out instinctually.

It felt second-nature to want to protect Kurt. It didn't seem to matter that Blaine only knew the other man for a few days. He knew his purpose in life was to safe-guard the man that was currently passed out on the bed. He was so thin and willowy. His porcelain-like flesh looked delicate; like it could be easily tarnished with ease. But Blaine knew that there was more than meets the eye. Immense power lurked beneath Kurt's fragile surface.

The witch he met years ago had made sure of that. 

_Blaine sat alone in the all too familiar cave that was shrouded deep within the wilderness. The only thing keeping him company was the crackle of flames from the makeshift hearth that settled in the center of the dirt floor. The flames danced with the still night air, shadows spawning and fanning across the limestone walls. Blaine liked to imagine them in shapes and objects, creating stories to help pass the time. No such shapes manifested themselves. Not tonight. The air stung with mystery; Blaine's nostrils attuned themselves to the possibility of change at any moment. It wasn't time. Not yet anyway._

 _Blaine watched the embers of the fire flick themselves up into the air. They suspended themselves for moment, letting their sparks settle before grasping towards the clouds. They almost made it but never quite reached their destination. The ambitious sparks extinguishing themselves into mere wisps of smoke. They reminded Blaine of himself. Purposeful; a life of aspiration waiting to be fulfilled only to be snuffed out before it was his time._

 _He pushed his overgrown curls out of his dirt stained face and sighed. When had his life gotten so lonely? So completely out of his grasp? He was abandoned. A wolf without his pack. It made Blaine despise himself for revealing his truths. They should have been locked away in box for safe keeping, away from prying eyes. A box that he, and he alone, had the key to unlock._

 _As he continued to look at the fire, their flames reflecting in his gaze, he couldn't help but feel like he was an effigy; waiting to be sacrificially burned for something greater. An unfortunate means to an unfortunate end._

 _A pair of twigs snapped in the distance. Blaine's golden orbs searched out the sound._

" _Lower your hackles, wolf." A sultry, feminine voice drawled out. Her Spanish accent was as thick as it was alluring. The last word was curt and reluctant; like she would rather be anywhere but here in this very moment and place. It was risky to come here alone. Blaine sniffed, his nostrils widening. A witch, he determined._

" _You shouldn't be so deep in werewolf territory, witch." Blaine reciprocated the intruder's venom in earnest. The witches eyes sparkled with mischief; she had another one-liner ready to be released, just resting on the tip of her barbed tongue._

" _Werewolf territory...interesting words for a wolf without a pack." Her red painted lips curled into a salacious smirk. Blaine's throat grumbled, his patience wearing dangerously thin._

" _You shouldn't speak on matters you know nothing about. Although witches seldom do. Always meddling in other creature's private affairs. No wonder why you're always being hunted." The witch's wrinkled eyes steeled, her gnarled hands swiping at the air. A gust of wind, which felt nothing at all like a gentle breeze, slapped Blaine across the face. It left a wake of red that rapidly bloomed across his cheek._

" _Never underestimate a witch with spectral sight. We see through your guarded secrets of the past and future and all that falls in between. In grave detail, mind you." She paused, her hands clasping together, lips settling into a hard line. "I know why your pack abandoned you, young alpha. To come clean of your inner most desires only to be cast aside and hung out to dry, alone. You didn't deserve it. I felt your fear and all your self-loathing. So much pain. So much hurt."_

" _What do you want, witch?" Blaine breathed harshly. This woman didn't know jack shit and Blaine was not in the mood for her parlor tricks. He wanted to be left alone. To watch the flames as he always did in tormented solitude. He didn't want to think about his father's decision to outcast his own son from the pack. It unstitched a wound that never quite healed properly. A wound that was left to fester with nothing but anguish to nurse it. The sinewy, tender flesh of hurt continually coming apart at their seams. Blaine's chest ached._

" _You're destined for great things, little wolf. Things that will save us all. Human and creature alike. The shadows and fires tell me so." Her black eyes softened as sincerity bled through them. "But you are merely one half to the reflexive puzzle that's constantly in motion. The fates have not yet settled, and they bristle in impatience."_

" _I have no time nor desire for your half-baked prophecies of honor and heroism. Find another victim and let me live out my meager life in peace." Blaine's tone was rough and guarded, a manifestation of life devoid social interaction rearing its ugly head._

" _No time? My dear, it appears you have nothing_ _ **but**_ _time." She gestured to the empty cave. She was right. "Let me show you your fate. Only but a glimpse is all I can conjure. Then you can decide for yourself." Her fingernails tapped at a leather bag that was slouched over her frail shoulder._

 _Blaine thought about it for moment. He didn't trust witches as far he could throw them. Yet, he had nothing of substance to live for. The vague idea of a heroic prophecies gave him something to latch on to; to fulfill some semblance of purpose. Purpose that had been ceremonially stripped away by his father. All that he truly wanted was a small sliver of redemption. That would be just enough to get him by. Reluctantly, he nodded. He turned and motioned for the witch to follow. Her aged joints complied with his request as she staggered after him._

" _Do what you must. But mark my words, if this is a witch's trick...I will end you." Blaine was serious. Living alone and being estranged from a pack did awful things to a lone werewolf's psyche. It left him unhinged and prone to extremism._

" _Very well. If you must know, I'm the last of an ancient and powerful line of witches. They don't make them like me anymore. I have no need for idle trickery and illusions. I'm a dealer in the business of fate. And a damn good one, too." She unbuckled the silver straps of her bag and unsheathed a handful of candles, salt, and colored ash. She quickly carved out a pentagram with the candles and salt, leaving the ashes aside for later use. "Close your eyes. Channel your hopelessness and fear. That is where your true strength lays." Blaine obliged, thinking deeply of his self-perceived shortcomings. He heard the witch chant in an unfamiliar language, the air crackling with energy. The wind swirled around his ankles, fawning under the whim of the witch. The witch sprinkled the colored ashes amongst Blaine's meager fire. Light danced in front of Blaine's closed eyelids. "You may open your eyes. Peer into the flames. They will show you what you need to know."_

 _Blaine obliged and snuck a tentative glance at the small tendrils of flame. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary beside the blaze burning blue from the ash. But they soon started to lift themselves up, the lines of flame stretching out into visions; like still shots from a movie. The fire and smoke etched themselves into the forging of a picture._

 _Blaine gasped. He saw himself first. Then another person began to fold themselves into the vision. He was smaller, paler in comparison to Blaine's dark olive complexion. His features were intricately feminine; like a prized doll that everyone wanted but ultimately no one could have. Both men embraced each other, their golden and cerulean eyes locked together in a heated embrace._

 _What he saw next, for some reason, shocked and frightened him. The fair boy, the one with the chestnut hair and full pink lips, was running from something. Cuts and bruises eclipsed his beautiful face. The sight angered Blaine deeply, his protective instincts engaging. The boy stopped and turned, his face setting into a visage of frigid ice. He was brave for facing whatever had been chasing him. The beautiful boy raised his hands and pure elemental energy erupted from his palms. He was some sort of witch, Blaine presumed. Similar scenes played out before him, each one more terrifying and each one weighing the boy down. He couldn't fight whatever was stalking him alone. Something vile and wicked was looming on the outskirts of the vision, its form obscured by the shadows of uncertainty. The boy needed someone to protect him. To guard him. And that someone was Blaine._

 _The fires stopped abruptly, Blaine had made his decision_

" _You have made the determination, little wolf. I'm glad." They looked at each other, resolution dawning between the two of them. "The shadows and fires tell me you must protect him at all costs. Something primeval is stirring. Something evil and diabolical. It will evade its prison and take the world, as we know it, with its escape. He's important. He's the one they've been waiting for. He is the only one who can stop it."_

" _I feel protective of him. Why is that?"_

 _The witch smiled, secrets dancing in her blackened eyes. "I'm afraid it's not my tale to tell. You will find out in due time. Until then, I need you to find the witch boy. His name is Kurt and his powers have been boxed away deep inside him. It is up to you and me to find the key." The witch packed her things back into her bag, her breath ragged from channeling the vision. When she was done, she clasped her aged hands around Blaine's bearded jaw, her face unflinchingly solemn. "You must bring him to me in one-piece, little wolf. I have much to teach him as you have much to teach each other. Promise me." Her nails gripped tighter, signifying her seriousness. Her eyes were desperate; as rabid as Blaine surely looked to the outside observer. He couldn't deny her. He couldn't deny Kurt._

" _I promise."_

Blaine blinked away the memory that led him to where he was in this precise moment. Kurt was restless, his thin body tossing and turning in distress. Kurt was surrounded by the color white; white on his walls, white on his carpet, and white on the bedding. It made him look like an angel. _My angel_ , Blaine thought. Blaine brushed his fingers through the smaller man's chestnut hair in an attempt to calm him. He used his thumb to smooth out the other man's furrowed brow, just as Kurt did to Blaine in the library. Kurt was still asleep when he mumbled, "hmm, Blaine. Need...more. Lay with me." His arms limply reached out for the wolf that stood at his bedside.

Blaine obliged, hesitantly settling onto the other side of the bed. Kurt cuddled into his side, his head resting on Blaine's muscled chest. He sighed in content, his left hand gripping Blaine's waist.

The wolf in Blaine practically purred in gratification. He had finally found his Kurt and he would not be letting him out of his sight anytime soon.

Blaine placed a gentle kiss, light as air, on top of Kurt's head.

Blaine's last thoughts that flooded his mind before he drifted into sleep was of the honeysuckle-laced scent that was explicitly Kurt.

 **AN: Whew, that took a lot out of me. The plot thickens even more. I'm really proud of this chapter. Especially how I wrote the flashback. Probably the best I've ever written. I felt like Blaine needed a bit of backstory. Btw, the old witch is Santana. Next chapter: Kurt comes to terms with being a witch. Then the journey of reaching Santana begins. But it won't nearly be that easy. As always, favs and reviews keep me going. I welcome any critiques (positive or negative) with open arms. 3**


	9. Chapter 9

_Kurt was sprinting through the shadows of the forest. Again. Despite the reoccurrence of the dreams, he could tell that tonight would be different. His skin prickled with unfamiliarity, the air thickening with anticipation for the chase that was bound to come. His milky skin glistened under the slivers of moonlight, the subdued hues engulfing him. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, centering the heels of his feet into the ground. He smelled the aromas that were teased out of the pine cones, the woody scent of tree bark and the musty earth that was moist from humidity. An owl prattled from the trees above, its call being swallowed by the vast expanse of the night._

 _He had never thought to explore his other senses whenever he was under the spell of this dream. He was too one-track minded. Too busy prioritizing evasion. Perhaps he spent too much time attempting to escape, and not enough time facing whatever it was that chased him. Always running away and never staying in one place long enough for anything, or anyone for the matter, to get too close. It was easier that way. Kurt was beginning to realize that this was more than merely a dream. This was a direct manifestation of his Achilles heel that plagued his entire life._

 _He was always running from something. Bullies. Pain. Love. And now, he was even running from being a witch. Kurt was emotionally and physically spent. It was high time he planted his feet and met whatever it was that chased him with full force. He was ready for the wave of change that would inevitably rip away his shroud of avoidance. He was ready to give in to the chase._

 _The branches of pine that surrounded him preened and chortled in satisfaction. They were just as tired as him for avoiding his fate. Their roots settled; the tips straightening in relaxation. The nocturnal creatures that stirred in the shadows went silent. Something was about to happen, and they were merely preparing themselves for it. The gentle breeze evaporated into nothing in response. Silence fell over the forest with a resounding hush._

 _It was here._

 _Kurt felt it's eyes first. Their golden hues burning into his upper back. He remained motionless, not daring to move. He wanted to take his time. He spent all this time running; he needed to savor the moment of this willing reveal. The walls crumbled as the creature, his creature, stalked forward. It's gait was heavy, the strides hard and confident. It was the walk of a predator. A predator whose prey had at last relinquished after their long and drawn out duel for survival. But this was not a matter of life and death; this was a matter of union. A marriage of divinity; of two souls merging into one._

 _Kurt felt the creature's breath; lapping just as surely as a wave breaks and approaches the shoreline before ebbing back into the sea._

 _In. Out. In. Out._

 _Kurt turned. He had saw the creature before, but it wasn't nearly the same as being directly in front of it at such a close range. The moonlight reflected over it's black fur, it's chest heaving in and out. It's mouth was open, his eyes ablaze with desire. Of longing that was finally obtainable. Kurt wanted to run his fingers over the coarse hair. So, he did. He jutted out his chin in defiance, not letting the nerves consume him. Kurt's hands shook before he placed them gently on the column of the creature's neck, his thumb rubbing lines into it's cheeks. The werewolf's eyelids drooped, it's satisfied breath fanning over Kurt's face._

 _It's large claws, their nails sharp as knives, made their way around Kurt's back. Their touch, as tender as a chaste kiss, settled at the base of his spine. "Kurt. My Kurt." The wolf's voice was rough and guttural. Savage, even. But it felt so utterly familiar. He couldn't help but feel as though he heard it before, albeit in a much less harsh and more humanized form. The creature suddenly pulled Kurt forward, their bodies flushed closely together. His pronounced arms consumed him, the taut muscles braiding and entwining around Kurt's lithe form. Kurt held his breath. Not out of fear, but out of anticipation. They held each other's gaze for what seemed like forever. Here, time was like liquid, slipping through the cracks and constraints of mere seconds, minutes, or hours. It wasn't something that could be measured, just felt._

 _The werewolf nuzzled it's nose into the crevice of Kurt's neck and drank in the scent that emanated from the pulse point. Kurt's head dropped back, his erogenous zones burning with unadulterated pleasure. The wolf seemed to want to be in contact with all parts of Kurt's body, his hips thrusting into the pale man's pelvis. It's clutches palmed every square inch of his creamy skin. It was marking Kurt. It's scent invading his and mingling its own way until it was impossible to discern where it's smell began, and Kurt's ended._

 _Kurt dropped his nose into the wolf's mane, breathing in. He smelled of pine and overgrown grass with subtle notes of wild mint. Fresh, like wilderness that was untouched. Pristine, even. He scent was like a maze, a dizzying labyrinth that Kurt wanted to willingly lose himself in._

 _Kurt felt something buried deep within his chest awaken and unleash inside of him. Something long ago forgotten. A binding was somewhere being unraveled, a lifetime of pent up power animating itself from an unspoken slumber. His blood was the fuel, and witchcraft was the spark. A fire of magic erupted through the narrow passages of his veins._

 _It was the fire of witches._

 _A chain was being formed between the two of them; melding their souls together. The links clasped one another, securing themselves in a tight seal bound by magic. There was no turning back now. They would be inseparable after this, Kurt was sure of it. The wolf and the witch, spellbound together in a divine pairing._

 _Once the unraveling and bonding spell were complete, the wolf unexpectedly jolted back. It screamed out in anguish, it's rasping voice piercing the night air. Kurt gasped. Seeing a creature so strong, so formidable looking, doubled over in pain was an unsettling sight. It's bones snapped, shortening themselves into more recognizably human forms. It's dark hair, which covered its entire body, slowly receded as it reabsorbed into its skin. It left a light dusting of it on its chest, legs and shoulders. It revealed a hulking muscular body, remarkably human, with olive tinted flesh. It's face was the last to morph. The snout and teeth caving in towards its skull and eventually flattening out and settling into a recognizable visage. Kurt gulped, stifling a gasp. It wasn't an it but a_ _ **he**_ _._

 _And_ _ **he**_ _..._ __ _was Blaine._

The realm of consciousness washed over Kurt like cold water. Frigid, and all at once. The first thing he smelled was pine, grass, and mint. Lost remnants of his dream. Or so he had thought. It was Blaine's scent, he was sure. He opened his eyes instantly. His gaze was met with Blaine's face which was tucked neatly in the domain of sleep. His arms were wrapped tightly around Kurt; like he was protecting him from harm even while unconscious. It felt nice, even if unexpected. Kurt fixed his gaze on the darker man's face for a few moments. Despite his bearded jaw and brawny frame, he looked like a child. So innocent; like the world had yet to ruin him for good. Kurt savored it and locked the image away in the deepest corners of his memory for safe keeping.

As if he knew he was being watched, Blaine lazily open his golden orbs. A look of complete adoration dawned on his face before settling into Blaine's usual passive exterior. It was so brief that Kurt almost missed it.

"I'm really a witch, aren't I?" Resignation and reluctant acceptance bled through his voice. It was small. Like a child accepting a story at face value without question.

"Yes, Kurt. You are. It's nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, it's something to be proud of." Blaine took Kurt's hand and turned it over, exposing the underside of his forearm. He ran a thumb over the bluish veins that bloomed through his wrist in fibrous branches. "You have so much power running through your veins. So much so that you don't even know it."

"And what about you?" Kurt's tone was questioning. But it was a question he already knew the answer to. He merely wanted confirmation.

"What about me?" Blaine was deflecting. He wasn't one to reveal his truth so easily. It never did him any good.

"You're the wolf that's been stalking my dreams, aren't you?" Kurt looked Blaine directly in the eyes, unflinching. The truth was out, and he wanted Blaine to know he didn't care. "I'm no expert on creatures but does that make you a werewolf?" Blaine's body stilled. He wasn't sure what to do or say. The dark-haired man breathed out deeply, the air hissing between his gritted teeth.

"We...prefer lycan. But everybody else usually goes with werewolves." Blaine looked uncomfortable at unsheathing secrets; like a top secret agent providing the enemy with closely guarded intel. "How did you figure it out?" He snuck a glance at Kurt who was drawing circles on Blaine's chest with his index finger.

"I should have known when you growled at Adam. Also, you sniff a lot. It's very dog-like." He laughed a little bit, his eyes wary to gauge if Blaine took offense. When he didn't, he continued, "but it wasn't until my usual dreams, that I was sure."

"Usual dreams?" Blaine was confused, his brows knitted together in an attempt to understand.

"I had these recurring dreams of something chasing me. I never knew what it was. It never got close enough for me to find out. Until you came into my life that is. It kept giving me bread crumbs, little morsels of reveals here and there. But tonight was... different." Kurt blushed, recalling what happened between the two of them.

"And why was it different?" Blaine leaned in, his curiosity getting the better of him. The blush of Kurt's cheeks made his heart soar. He suspected he was the cause for it and it made the wolf in him shudder with pleasure.

"I had seen you in your other form before...but this time you got closer. I was able to touch you and you were able to touch me." Kurt avoided his gaze and Blaine quickly misinterpreted the look.

"I didn't...I didn't hurt you, did I?" Blaine's eyes were wild with regret and sorrow. Like he would never allow an ounce of forgiveness if he had harmed Kurt in any way.

Kurt rebounded quickly, wanting to reassure Blaine. "Oh, not at all! You were actually...you were quite gentle, in fact. Tender even." Kurt paused. "You were just really adamant about smelling me and putting your body all over me." It was Blaine's turn to blush.

"Lycan are...are very in tune with our sense of smell. Smelling is essential component of our social interactions." His voice was blank, devoid of emotion. He was lying.

 _He's lying, he was marking you. The devilish wolf doesn't want to upset you. Too bad he doesn't know you enjoyed it._ The voice in Kurt's head crept from the shadows and sprang to life to catch his attention. He ignored it. He snorted in response to Blaine.

"That's the understatement of the year." Kurt sat up, reluctantly pulling himself from Blaine. "I felt something. Something important." Kurt gathered his thoughts.

"What is it, Kurt?" Blaine's eyes were alert, ready to remedy any problem Kurt had.

"It's hard to explain, really. We were holding each other and suddenly I felt something unravel within me. Like how one who unwrap a present that's tied with twine. One pull and everything hidden in the box would be revealed." Kurt took a breath. "And one more thing, I felt a chain being linked between us. I can still feel it if I focus hard enough." He whispered the last part, still unsure where this was going.

"It must be your powers coming in. You broke the binding spell in your sleep somehow. As for the other part, I have no idea."

"Binding spell? What does that even mean?" It was Kurt's turn to be puzzled. Witchcraft, the real kind and not the kind he read about, was a fresh field of confusion ripe with unanswered questions. Kurt was more than ready to bite into the forbidden fruits of magical knowledge.

"I can't answer that. Well, more like I don't know how to. Witchcraft is a witch's business and it's one that I'm not intimately familiar with to be honest." Blaine looked sheepish, frowning as Kurt deflated. "But I do know someone who can." Kurt's eyes lit up, curiosity shining brightly back at Blaine. The dark-haired man wanted to bottle that look. So alive. So beautiful. He could almost see the wheels turning in that gorgeous brain of Kurt's.

"Really? Oh my god, do I get some fairy-witch mother or something?" They shared a small laugh.

"In a way, yes. Her name is Santana. She's a mean one, sassy as hell for an old woman. She came to me in the dead of night in Lycan territory and told me about you." Blaine minced his words, not wanting to scare Kurt off with the absolute truth.

"What did she say?"

"That you were spellbound and needed her to discover the true extent of your powers. We need to travel to meet with her soon."

"Travel? Soon? I can't just put my research and life on hold, Blaine. I have things that need to be done. Life doesn't stop because one finds out they're a witch." The lively banter they had built dwindled, the air around them souring with reality. Blaine's face turned hard and serious.

"Kurt, something is coming. Something evil. Santana said that you're the only one who can stop it. You're the one." It was the same thing that the voices who overtook Frank had said. _You know it's true. You felt the tremors in the library._ "She instructed me to provide you with safe passage so that she can teach you about your magic."

"So, I've been told." Kurt pursed his lips, mulling over the limited options he had. He could stay in Washington and continue his research in an attempt to forget about this witch business. Or he could travel with Blaine to fulfill a destiny defeating an evil being. Which, for the record, he didn't ask for. He peddled between the two options. Running in place was still running. If he stayed, he'd only be running away from who he truly was. He'd be hiding in a world of familiarity that only served to make him comfortable. The other option meant that he was still running but he would instead be running _toward_ something. And that something was his destiny. A destiny that would reveal himself by a journey of unquestionable power. And he needed to learn more about that power if he was going to defeat whatever diabolical entity that was out to obliterate the world.

His decision was made.

"Fine, I'm in."


	10. Chapter 10

"It's...quaint?" Kurt's tone was an attempt to sound optimistic. He tried his best to offer a sincere compliment for Blaine's vehicle. But he blurted it out as a question instead. The car was, for all intents and purposes, a metal death trap. Kurt wasn't sure what brand or model it was for any existing label had faded with age. The paint was chipping, the color faded by years of weathering. The only discernible feature of the truck was that it was a pick-up. Kurt peered over the ledge of the bed, not surprised that it was saturated with rust. "I hope you have a tetanus shot." Blaine snorted while Kurt rolled his eyes.

"While I appreciate the effort, you don't need to feign politeness." Blaine smiled, his elbow resting on the ledge of the truck. His body was turned to Kurt and the language of his form was open. Inviting. "This isn't even my car. I would have gotten something nicer, but I figured it would be best to remain...inconspicuous." It was a sour reminder that they had an important job to do. A prophesied duty that they both swore to uphold. It still felt foreign to Kurt. He still wasn't certain it was the best decision. But he trusted Blaine. With every fiber of feeble being. It terrified Kurt, placing that amount of faith into someone. Let alone someone he barely knew. The invisible chain that bound them seamlessly together disagreed with Kurt's confliction. It was as sure as the links that clamped in tandem, their sturdy loops anchoring the two beings together. It comforted Kurt's in these brief bouts of indecision.

"It's okay. I understand. A flashy car would only draw more attention. Besides, the rust gives it character. Don't you think?"

"Sure, if that's how you define character." Blaine looked at the sky, sensing the rapidly approaching twilight that was sneaking its way through the clouds. "We should probably start to head out. Do you need me to stop anywhere before we leave for Massachusetts?" Blaine opted to loop his finger around the handle of Kurt's duffle bag, filled to the brim with Kurt's personal items and clothing. He gently deposited the luggage in the small crevice behind the front seat.

Kurt thought for a moment. He was missing something. Something important and crucial to his journey of awaited discovery. "Yes, actually. Do you think we could stop at the library? It's still open. I'd like to check out a book." Blaine nodded. Kurt made his way around the tail end of the truck to get to the passenger seat. However, he didn't get to the door as fast as Blaine had. The dark-haired man held the rusted door open with a blinding smile, his golden orbs dancing with mirth behind those luscious lashes of his. His large hand, palms facing forward, was held out to assist Kurt with stepping up into the truck. Kurt blushed, suddenly feeling transported back into time, back to an era where this type of decorum was an expected norm. It felt nice, even if a little heteronormative.

"Chivalry. Who knew it wasn't dead?" Blaine deadpanned, hoping Kurt wasn't uncomfortable with such a blatant display of masculine decorum and affection. He was satisfied when Kurt laughed in response and smiled a sweet smile. So sweet it nearly gave Blaine a toothache. He made an internal promise that he'd attempt to fish out those grins as often as he could. The times ahead we're going to be so dark and so treacherous. He wanted to savor the sight before whatever nefarious being that was brewing in the midst came for them. Before the smiles and laughter would be much less frequent as seriousness and responsibly would inevitably settle in.

Blaine turned the key in the ignition, the corroded hunk of metal roaring to life. A pop song neither of the two men recognized blared through the decrepit speakers, static afflicting the synth-infused bass line.

When they arrived at campus Kurt unbuckled his seatbelt and said, "you don't have to come with me. I'll be in and out. Besides, it will make it easier on Chandler if you weren't there." Blaine looked unenthusiastic at the prospect of leaving Kurt vulnerable. He relinquished his protective instincts for just this moment. He would have plenty of time to satisfy the wolf's desire to guard the paler man in the times to come.

"Fine. Be careful, Kurt. Please." Blaine's eyes were sincere, concern etching itself into the tawny orbs. "And take my jacket, it's getting colder." He shimmied off the leather jacket off his shoulders and held it out to Kurt. He accepted it with a timid nod of appreciation. It was oversized, the leather swallowing his willowy frame. He pulled the collar under his nose and breathed in. It smelled exactly like Blaine. His thoughts predictably rounded back to the raven-haired man while the heels of his boots clicked on the cobblestone pavers. The cherry blossoms had, for the most part, fallen. Their pink-tinted petals scattered across the land as they were no longer conjoined to branches which were now bare. It was a sign of change. A passing of seasons. Or in Kurt's case, a passing of responsibility. The wind licked the air around Kurt, sending the decaying flowers in a collection of small whirls that rounded in circles.

He reached the doors of the library in record time.

As predicted, Chandler was occupying his usual seat at the front desk. He visibly perked up at the sight of Kurt. "Kurt! Long time no see! I was beginning to think you ran away." His was insufferably chipper. Kurt had to remind himself to be kind. Chandler was a nice guy. Just a nice guy who happened to be annoyingly inadequate at picking up hints of disinterest. Besides, he had to manipulate Chandler's affections for what he was about to do.

"Good evening, Chandler! I hope you're well. Sorry I haven't been in the library. I've been having...a family emergency." It was a lie that spilled from his lips with ease. The story was predictable, but it was the one that seemed the most plausible for Kurt to take time off from school and research. His academic advisors had not been pleased at the sudden disappearing act he was about pull. But it was hard for them to argue against an alleged familial crisis. He vowed that he wouldn't let his research suffer the consequences of his actions. Which is why he was here, about to do something that was strictly forbidden for students of his position.

He needed the transcribed journals of the Salem witches.

"Oh my god, I'm terribly sorry for you." Chandler's eyes welled up with genuine concern. Kurt was touched. He felt guilty for lying about such a tragic predicament. "If you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know." Chandler's nubby fingers placed themselves on top of Kurt's. He could use this to his advantage. Kurt eyelids dropped, his lashes batting coyly.

"Actually, there is something I had in mind…" Kurt's voice got high and breathy. Seduction was an art. An art that he wasn't exactly intimately familiar with. It seemed to be working. Chandler was utterly enraptured, his mouth open with desire and his pale blue eyes on fire.

"Yeah...anything you want. And I mean anything." Chandler emphasized the last word, stressing his seriousness.

"Are you sure? It's not exactly...allowed." Chandler nodded, wanting to know what his request was. "I really need the Salem witch journals. It would mean _so_ much to me if I could rent them out for a few months." Kurt bit his lip before pouting for added effect. Chandler's trance was broken in an instant.

"Oh, I can't do that Kurt. Renting out books are strictly reserved for professors. Especially the Salem journals. Those are too important of texts to let students rent out all willy nilly." Kurt deflated. He severely overestimated his seductive capabilities.

 _You could always use magic, Kurt._ The shadowed voices murmured, rustling from their hiding place in the crevices of Kurt's psyche. Magic was too new to him. He didn't even know where to begin. He needed the voices of the void to guide him. He silently asked them for assistance.

 _Drag the tips of your fingers along his palms...feel the blood heating up with desire. Isolate it._ Kurt obliged, coaxing the emotion from Chandler's life source. _Open your third eye. Now gaze into his. Peer deep into his soul. Peruse his thoughts. Latch onto the ones of you._ Kurt did. He ventured into the cavernous depths of Chandler's mind. He tried his best to evade the deeply personal thoughts. He felt terrible for invading his privacy like this. Kurt elapsed by Chandler's deepest and darkest fears, his aspirations, and his other surface level thoughts. He settled on the others man's section of brain matter that centered around the pleasure principles and love. He'd find himself there.

What he saw was exactly what he expected. It was so odd seeing oneself from someone else's perspective. It was mostly of Kurt. He was naked in most of the moving picture of thoughts. He was bathed in fluorescent natural light, his milky skin reflecting it back onto the viewer. He was in all sorts of compromising positions. Chandler had quite a bit of...colorful fantasies.

 _Lock onto the thoughts of you. Exploit them. Make him think you're literally the center of his world._

Kurt tried his best to follow the shadow's instructions. He quarantined the cluster of thoughts that held desire and affection and amplified them to the forefront of Chandler's mind. The manipulated man's eyes glazed over in a giddy haze of infatuation.

 _He's yours. A job well done, Kurt. Ask of him what you will._

"I need the Salem journals. And with an extended withdrawal. Predictably without my name attached to it." Kurt's eyes were wary, not entirely convinced this was going to work. Chandler paused for a moment, a dopey smile gracing his face.

"Extended withdrawal of important texts are only reserved for professors." Kurt sucked his teeth, frustrated that the magic wasn't working in his favor. "But for you...I'll make an exception." His fingers danced across the keyboard as he entered in the necessary information. "Okay, you're all set. Return them whenever you get back."

"Oh my god, you're a lifesaver! Thank you. Truly." They smiled at each other for a moment.

 _Release the amplification before it gets too messy. Love spells are more troublesome than they're worth._

Kurt perused back through Chandler's mind looking for the part he had magnified. He shrunk it back to normal, making sure everything appeared as though it was untouched. Satisfied that his attempt at magic was successful, he made his way to check out the books he needed.

As he slid the last journal out of the bookshelf, a cold hand wrapped his wrist. Kurt looked up in shock, wondering who it was that was invading his personal space. It was Adam. Kurt shivered. Piercing blue eyes, frigid as ice, looked at him with an attentive glare. Kurt squirmed, feeling as though he was some unsuspecting prey about to be pinned.

"Hello, Adam." He spit his name out, his hand unraveling the other man's grip on his wrist. "Fancy seeing you here." It wasn't fancy meeting him. Not in the slightest.

"You too, dear." Adam licks his lips, his gaze sizing Kurt up. "Something is different about you. You're glowing. I can almost taste the power rolling off of you. I can definitely smell it." He sniffed, his straight nose nearly brushing his neck. "I smell the wolf too. You should really reconsider the company you keep, Kurt. Filth is unbecoming of such an alluring creature as yourself." His voice was smug, relishing in Kurt's growing discomfort

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous." Kurt's eyes hardened, his full lips settling into a smirk. He didn't want Adam to know he was intimidated. "Perhaps you should worry less about my powers, and more about your own safety."

 _Focus on the blood vessels in his brain. Enlarge them. He'll have an aneurysm. He won't die. Vampires seldom do._

Kurt listened to the voices. He used his third eye, the same one he used to charm Chandler, and peered into Adam's brain. He looked intently toward the pale pink folds of cerebral matter to find the vessels. When he saw them, they were filled with blood so dark it was black.

Kurt sneered at Adam, his icy exterior at full effect. He smiled deviously as he pinpointed the vessel and enlarged it, ballooning it just a few centimeters. Adam's vainglorious aura diminished instantly. He kept his face passive, the only signal giving away that he was in pain was the subtle twitch of his left eye. A trickle of black blood oozed out of his nostrils.

 _Release him, Kurt. There's too many witnesses. This was just an act to establish you are not one to be trifled with._

Kurt waited for a moment, reveling in satisfaction at being underestimated. He wasn't nearly as delicate as everyone thought him to be. When he let the blood vessel revert to their original shape, Adam doubled over, his undead lungs heaving. He wiped his nose with the end of his crisp, white sleeve.

"That's unfortunate. You've ruined such a nice shirt. Burberry, isn't it? Blood is such a troublesome stain to get out." Kurt examined his nails and exhaled a sassy huff. "Do yourself a favor. Don't fuck with me. You will lose. Every. Single. Time." Kurt gathered his books and turned on his heel to leave.

"Oh, Kurt." Kurt stilled his feet but didn't turn around. "Try to take care of yourself. We need you in one piece." Kurt rolled his eyes, but the spike in his heartbeat betrayed him. He was scared. The message was too dangerously cryptic not to be.

He practically ran across the stone pavers towards Blaine's pickup truck. The sky had darkened considerably, the stars trying to shine through the veil of clouds. His shaken hands gripped the handle to open the rusted door. Blaine and Kurt looked at each, exhaustion filling the gaze of the paler man.

"Let's get the fuck out of dodge."

The engine roared to life, its weary tires groaning on the asphalt. The two men, encased in a hunk of oxidized metal, drove away with haste.

The reflection of the dreary campus dwindled in the rear-view mirror, the last remaining remnants of Kurt's old life disappearing in their wake.


	11. Chapter 11

Blaine's knuckles gripped the peeling steering wheel with force. His fingernails had long gone white from his barely constrained rage. "He touched you?" His words were sharp, slicing through his clenched teeth. The muscles of his jaw flexed in warning. Kurt would normally find the act arousing. But Blaine was driving and the anger he felt seemed to continue to rise. The elevation of sheer vitriol paced itself with the increasing ticks on the speedometer. Kurt watched, his sea-stained eyes cautiously wary. Blaine was going too fast. The paler man desperately wanted to conjure the right words that would magically calm Blaine down.

They didn't come.

Instead, Kurt tentatively laced his fingers through Blaine's stray hand, interlocking their palms together. He hoped the more tangible solution would be a better approach. It was mildly successful. Blaine's jaw loosened, his breath a bit less ragged. His shoulders were still bound up in stress, as if he were ready to pounce on anyone at any moment's notice. Kurt licked his lips as he tried to figure out how to talk Blaine down off the edge of rage. He decided to keep it simple.

"Hey, can we pull over? I'll give you a play by play of what happened. As long as you stop driving like an amateur NASCAR driver." He ran his thumb over Blaine's knuckles. Blaine quickly glanced at Kurt, then back at the speedometer, his eyes widening in surprised. The dark-haired man eased on the breaks and turned the wheel to pull over on the side of the barren road. The car stalled for a moment, the engine dying after Blaine turned the key.

"Sorry for going so fast...I didn't realize it."

"It's cool. Nobody died...yet." Kurt laughed, attempting to spark a morbid banter. Blaine didn't. The lycan wasn't particularly pleased with the witch's cavalier sense of humor toward other creatures and death. There were beings out there that were particularly and intently dangerous. Ones that would stop at nothing to secure Kurt once they found out the extent of his powers. The pale man was basked in a witch's gleam and the aura had sprung to life seemingly overnight. His pale skin practically glowed with magic; an indication that his once latent powers were beginning to come into fruition. He needed to get Kurt to Santana. And fast. She was the only creature he was at liberty to trust with the newly minted witch.

"You shouldn't joke like that. Your life is in danger, Kurt. Real danger. Adam wasn't just some run of the mill blood sucker. He was old. And powerful too." Kurt snorted, rolling his eyes. He was annoyed at the lack of faith the raven-haired man had in him.

"If he was so powerful...he sure didn't show it. The aneurysm I gave him stopped his Harvey Weinstein wannabe ass dead in his tracks." Kurt found a sudden interest in inspecting his cuticles. He didn't appreciate Blaine telling him how to cope. It wasn't everyday one found out that they were a witch, let alone some bearer of some half-baked prophecy. He thought he was doing remarkably well at handling this entire situation thus far. He hadn't gone insane or downward spiraled into self-destruction. Kurt considered that to be progress.

Blaine's triangular brows knitted together. "Aneurysm? Please tell me you mean that figuratively and not literally." Kurt's averted gaze gave Blaine the unwanted answer to his question. "Jesus, Kurt. You're supposed to be laying low, not flinging magic around like free candy." Kurt huffed. Blaine was being absurd. What was he supposed to do? Let the British vampire trample over him? Make him feel like some insignificant and incompetent creature? Not while Kurt was alive and still breathing. His late father's words had wrung clear and true between those stacks of books in the library; _no one pushes the Hummel's around._

"That guy is a creep. Scratch that. That _vampire_ was a creep. Thanks for telling me about those by the way. Here I was thinking there was just witches and lycans." Kurt glowered as he crossed his arms across his lean chest. He looked like a spoilt child who wasn't used to not getting his way. Blaine found it cute even in this moment of annoyance and naivety. "Besides, the voices said I needed to show him that I was not someone he could push around. He was already aware of my powers. He said he could smell it." Blaine's mouth twitched, his nostrils flaring. Kurt swore he could almost see the lycan's nails start to elongate, just beginning to file into his lycan form's claws.

"He smelled you?" His voice was pained like Adam had somehow violated Kurt in some obscene and ghastly way. Besides invading his personal space, of course. The lycan pulled the witch closer, melding their bodies together. Blaine nuzzled his nose behind Kurt's ear, their necks brushing against each other. Kurt wasn't complaining but was utterly confused at the sudden and intense body contact. It was startlingly similar to the dream he had with Blaine's lycan form not too long ago.

"Uh, Blaine? Is there...a reason you're practically on top of me?" Blaine looked into Kurt's eyes, a sly smile gracing his face. A blush had eclipsed the apples of his olive cheeks.

"Yes, actually. I'm hiding your scent with my mine. I don't want Adam or any other lowlife creature following you." _Don't be fooled, Kurt. He's marking you as his. As he should. The wolf protects the ones he marks._ The shadow's voice left as quickly as it came. It left Kurt with a notable absence in the confines of his mind. "It also warns others that you're under my protection." Blaine's eyes flickered toward Kurt's lips, briefly wondering what they felt and tasted like. "And voices?" Kurt hoped he forgot about that about that part. They still baffled Kurt. He didn't know how to explain it to himself let alone to another person. Blaine would likely think he was a nutcase.

"I've been hearing little whispers every now and then. They seem to come alive whenever magic is involved." Kurt paused, not knowing what to say. The truth was that Kurt didn't really know anything about them. "It's almost like they're giving me tutorials, like they're my very own Magic for Dummies."

"I must have missed that one. Do they have it at Barnes and Noble?" The sound of their mutual laughter filled the cabin of the idle truck. Kurt loved moments such as these. He had just confessed to hearing voices and here Blaine was cracking jokes like nothing was strange about it. "You'll have to ask Santana about them. She'll have answers to any of your magic related questions." Blaine's hands ghosted over Kurt's thigh before deciding against it. He turned the key in the ignition instead and pulled back into the empty street.

They let a pregnant pause fill the truck, a comfortable silence settling between the two of them. Kurt turn his head to take in the scenery that whirled past him from his vantage point of the fast-moving vehicle. Trees seemed to blur together in one continuous line, their branches nestled closely together. The inky sky seemed especially big, their darkened clouds looming above the tips of the pine trees. The tall grass that bordered the forest and road, once lush, was beginning to pale in the approaching colder weather. Kurt was once again reminded of the prospect of change.

So much had changed in such a short span of time. His life, at this very moment, was an insurmountable whirlwind of it. It was up to him to decide whether he would be swept away or to remain still and adapt. Kurt looked at Blaine and wondered if the lycan could be his constant; an anchor that he could latch onto amidst this metamorphic maelstrom. He didn't love him. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Not yet, at least. But feelings were nonetheless starting to take root. It would only be a matter of time before something deeper would begin to sprout. Would Blaine stay around long enough to reap the fruits of their harvest? Or would he leave once he handed Kurt over to Santana? Kurt wanted so desperately to be more than just a liability for Blaine; more than just a means to a prophesied end. He wanted to be more than just someone who had to kept and guarded like some priceless museum exhibit; always visible but rarely ever permitted to be touched and loved beyond the ramblings of a critic.

"I'm sorry." Blaine's gruff voice broke the spell of quietude and grounded Kurt from his thoughts.

"What for, Blaine?" _For everything, Kurt_ Blaine thought. He was so irresolute about thrusting Kurt into this menacingly foreign world of creatures. A world that Kurt never knew existed up until a few days ago. He was silently apologizing for acting as though Kurt was some fragile piece of porcelain. But he couldn't bring himself and his protective instincts to heel. Not while Kurt was a factor in this increasingly complex and supernatural equation.

The stakes were too high, he couldn't risk any harm coming Kurt's way. The lycan wouldn't be able to live with himself if merely one strand of Kurt's meticulous hair was damaged. It was dangerous having such an obvious Achilles heel; Kurt's safety being distinctly his. But as he glanced at Kurt's gorgeous face, he couldn't bear ignoring the feelings that were beginning to swell. He fought, tooth and nail, with his inner wolf to resist claiming the witch as his. But it would only be a matter of time before the temptation would prove to be too great for him to thwart. He had to remind himself that he was worthy of love. Of happiness. He had a sneaking suspicion that Kurt could be his light at the end of his cavernously dark tunnel. Blaine promised himself that he would try his best to not sabotage that possibility if Kurt showed signs of reciprocating his feelings. It would prove to be a challenging vow to keep.

"For acting too protective and scolding you for using magic. It's who you are. I can't be with you all the time and it's good that you have some means of defending yourself. But you shouldn't take magic lightly, Kurt." Blaine hesitated for a few seconds. "And I'm sorry for not telling you about this world of creatures you've been inducted to. I forget that everything is so new. You deserve to know." Kurt smirked, his mind reeling with questions.

"So, there's vampires, witches, and lycans...what else is there?" Kurt needed to know what to be prepared for in the times to come.

"Demons, mainly. There's subdivisions of them. Incubi and Succubae are the most common among humans. Jinn's and Nickar's are rarer. Demons are an odd species that evolve into a variety of forms, really. They escape the underworld every now and again fulfilling the whims of their masters. They're sneaky creatures; always popping up at the least favorable times to wreak havoc. Blaine snuck a glance at Kurt to see if he was following. The paler man's eyes were wide as saucers, processing the information as best as he could. "There's fairies, too. But they're all but extinct. The vampires made sure of that." He spit _vampires_ out with as much venom as a cornered snake.

"Vampires...they seem like real pieces of work. Are they all bad?"

"They're a malevolent species for the most part. They hoard blood and time for their own selfish reasons. I've heard there's a few good ones. I've yet to meet them."

"You mentioned they killed the fairies. Is there a reason?" Kurt's voice was small, his fingers clutching his throat.

"It's their blood. It's too tempting for a vampire to resist. They all but committed genocide. Now they're after...witches." Blaine regretted telling Kurt the last part. He didn't want to terrify him. But he needed to know. "The magical properties in your blood makes them more powerful. And if it's not blood or time...power is their most sought-after resource." Kurt gulped, his throat arid. Violent scenarios played throughout his mind. He shivered, silently praying that none of them would manifest themselves to reality.

"Well. It seems as though I'm a hot commodity, huh?" Neither man laughed, the reality of Kurt's new life setting in. The paler man didn't want to be reduced to fodder for supernatural beings. He had an inkling, in the event that he was caught, that that would not be his fate. They wanted him for something much more sinister than fulfilling their most carnal desires. "They want me for something. Adam mentioned needing me in one piece. For what, I don't know. A ritual perhaps?" Kurt knitted his hands together in his lap, the nervousness he felt manifesting itself through his fingers.

"Maybe. I wouldn't put it past the vamps and demons. I'm certain it has to do with whatever it is that's coming. Hopefully Santana knows something." Blaine's eyes were guarded, and his usual visage of impassivity emerged to block the anxiety that he felt. It wouldn't do any good to stress Kurt out any further.

Kurt wished the voices came to him at his own will. They knew things that he didn't. Things that would undoubtedly answer any of Kurt's most troubling questions. The secrets they kept and their tales that were left untold were deafeningly silent. He needed them to fill in the missing gaps of information until they got to Santana. He was tired of being kept in the dark until they decided to shine their light from the shadows. Kurt wondered if there was a method to their silence. That there was a reason they only provided him with tiny morsels of intel when he needed them the most. Perhaps it was just the way fate happened to be dealt. Kurt briefly wondered if he could treat destiny like a tangible object; something he could touch and mold with his own two hands. He didn't enjoy the prospect of his fortune being some other entity's prerogative; to shape his life as they saw fit.

It was high time he placed the ball in his own court instead of playing by the rules of this game of kismet. He just didn't know how to.

"I'm scared, Blaine." Kurt's voice was tiny. Childlike, even. He watched the scenery that passed by as tears welled up on the precipice his eyelids. He didn't let them fall. Blaine's right hand caressed Kurt's knee before giving it a reassuring squeeze. Kurt clasped his hand over it, electricity bleeding through the skin-to-skin contact.

"Me too, Kurt. Me too."

They let the moment resolve itself, settling in their laps; their hearts achingly heavy. The two men let themselves, if only for a few moments, feel vulnerable. Honesty flowed through them; all the pretenses being momentarily suspended. They allowed themselves to bask in in the hurt and confusion; together.

Blaine continued to drive, his golden eyes intent on watching the road in front of him. One hand was on the steering wheel, the other resting on Kurt's lap. He sighed. Kurt was in the beginning throes of sleep, exhaustion clouding his tired, sea-stained eyes. They had a long and exhaustive road ahead of them. Blaine solemnly pondered at what he had gotten himself into and wondered if Kurt and the prophecy was worth it. One look at the now sleeping man was all the confirmation he needed. It indisputably _was_ worth it.

While Blaine drove, both men were none the wiser of the band of creatures that stalked their every move from the shadows; their chops salivating at being so close to their unwitting prey.

It was nearly time for them to strike.

 **AN: Sorry if this seemed like a filler chapter. I felt that I needed to briefly establish some lore and Klaine's growing feelings for each other. And sorry for the cliff hanger. You'll probably find out who those band of creatures are next chapter. I'm debating writing part of the next chapter from their perspective. I think it would provide some valuable insight to the "entity" that is coming to inherit Kurt and the earth and what not. Let me know if that's something you guys are interested in! As always, please leave reviews and constructive criticisms. They really do encourage and inspire me to write. It feels good to know someone out there is reading and that I'm not just senselessly shouting into the void. 3**


	12. Chapter 12

**Trigger Warning: Depictions of blood, violence, gore and death. Enjoy, you've been warned. 3**

The depths of the remote and sacred cave were shrouded in shadow. Light had not reached its cavernous breadth in eons. And for good reason. A cloaked figure, draped in black, stalked across the bed of limestone. The guised creature felt the immense power pulsing just underneath the prison of rock. Power that was more than eager to be unleashed from its cage. The hinges were rusted and the magic that infused its bondage had weakened with the passage of time. But the chains persisted in keeping the old god confined to another plane of existence; distancing the ancient deity from its sycophants. But it's power nonetheless still lurked in the forgotten realm that it had been banished to.

The veiled figure stilled for a moment, breathing in the primeval presence that still lingered in the damp, musty cavern. It was, for all intents and purposes, a makeshift crypt that desecrated the entity into an existence of absent mindedness. Following its imprisonment, it's devout followers all but dwindled. They simply didn't know how to bear being kept in the dark from their god. Their gifts and abilities being ceremoniously stripped away. They had moved on to more tangible and more easily accessible divine beings. They inducted themselves into the cult of amnesia; whose allure made its followers forget where their loyalties laid. But the concealed character did not. He was old enough to remember the power bestowed by the old god, the glorious days when rivers ran red with blood and the soil was littered with battered bodies. The delicious scent of death and decay had perfumed the air. The demons and vampires the god enlisted had free reign over this god-forsaken land. They fed and fucked when and how they wanted as surely as the wind blew. Now they were confined to the shadows; only able to lurk in disguise. They were stifled by insignificant humans, no less.

He blamed the wretched witches for that.

The undisclosed creature peered around the cavern, its advanced eyesight cutting through the darkness. Jagged shards of fluorite protruded out of the walls, taunting the creature with their protective properties. Its rough surface was magically engraved with enchantments that were strategically designed to keep the old god contained in its prison. They were also intended to keep demons and vampires from entering its chambers. It's luster and effectiveness had, to the creature's fortune, faded. The witches had deeply miscalculated the effectiveness of a demon's memory and loyalty. They didn't count on the demon waiting ever so patiently, just as his master had for centuries. A grave misjudgment that the creature was grateful for. His unnaturally pallid and languid digits grasped at a fragment of fluorite and harshly pulled. The crystal splintered off, the swirling of colors being obliterated into dust and chalk. The demon's hand hissed in protest, the skin sizzling with small wisps of smoke erupting from the wounds. Brimstone, acrid and foul, permeated the air. He spat on the ground, cursing the witches. The demon repeated his motions to the remaining gems that littered the walls until his palms were consumed in scorching blisters. Blood and puss oozed from the wounds. The veiled creature knew that the temporary pain would be worth it in due time.

With all the protective crystals removed, the demon sat back to admire his handiwork. His maimed hands dripped black blood, the droplets strewn across the floor. The cave sighed, the stone walls expanding and then compressing ever so slightly. The masked creature waited for any other traces of life to stir from their slumber. He mumbled a long-forgotten prayer; a devilish hymn swathed in an ancient tongue. The language had been consumed and banished into oblivion for centuries now. It was erased off the lips of countless demons, vampires, and witches alike.

But this demon remembered.

He was determined to not let the old ways sink away into the quicksands of time. So, he waited with baited breath for his masters return and did what was expected of him. The loyal follower of the old god amassed his own band of creatures and sycophants in his creator's absence. He was consolidating power and influence just as his master was conserving his. A gentle hum radiated from the floor, a long-awaited song being sung from the neglected abyss. The demon kneeled, his breath wavering in an unsteady exhale, another prayer unfurling from his lips. A kiss was placed on the bed of rock, black tears falling from sunken, charcoal eyes.

The murmurs stilled as the vibrations dwindled to silence.

The demon sighed. He figured his master would require a more...substantial tribute. Prayer was only ever a mere primer. The power that lurked below needed something else. Something much more brutal and gruesome was in order. The demon stood up and turned on his heel to exit. His eyes, black as pitch where the sclera's should be, were blown wide with anticipation. Straggled veins snaked their way on the outskirts of the hollowed orbs. The sun blazed against the demon's draped figure, the layers of black cloth intending to protect his ashen skin. The fel iron ring that encased one his fingers burned in suspense. He stopped at the mouth of the cave to stand in front of a woman.

Her mouth had been gagged, her hands and feet bound by thick ropes. The woman's hair was stringy with oil and her body putrid from lack of hygiene. The demon had kept her captive for days as a contingency plan for his master. He needed a sacrifice to finally bridge the divide between the two realms of existence. And she was it. Her eyes were imbued with fear and absolute terror flooded through her. He could hear her heart, weak with fatigue, circulate the blood and adrenaline with fearsome beats. The unbridled dread was positively delectable. He grabbed her by her hair and dragged her into the darkness, the depths swallowing her the deeper the demon pulled. Her muffled screams delighted her captor even more. Sadism was a demon's most-beloved pastime.

"Hush now, darling. Don't be afraid. Your pitifully trivial life has now been given a divine purpose. You should be grateful." His voice hissed, like a sly snake ready to strike. The captive woman's eyes clamped shut as heavy tears slid down her soiled face. "Your tears...your cries of anguish...delight me. They are a wondrous work of art; a truly gorgeous symphony to be heard." The demons face was some mere inches away from hers as his slimy, forked tongue darted out to lap up the salty moisture. He moaned in pleasure. "Delicious." Elongated fingernails, sharp as razors, dragged across the apples of her gaunt cheeks. Bright red blood welled up from the wound before dripping. An expression of finality fell over her features. She knew her life would be over. "Oh, don't worry. I won't make it quick. The master enjoys a lengthy torture session."

After hours had passed and copious amounts of blood had been spilled, the demon finally halted his twisted ministrations. The woman was stark naked, splayed spread eagle across the damp bed of rock. Her essence clung desperately to the realm of the living. Barely. She was a fighter and it made the demon taking her life so much more satisfying. The horrid creature gazed admiringly at his work, sucking the coagulated blood from underneath his claws. He inspected his sacrificial work of art; the canvas being her maimed body. Her blue eyes had been gouged out and her teeth had been yanked from the root. She was beyond mutilated. The expunged body parts were strategically dispersed in positions that were methodically votive in nature. Various ancient symbols of the old god were expertly carved into her skin. They were physical incantations; words of demon magic designed to invoke a primordial evil.

It was time.

The demon kneeled and bowed before his sacrifice. His skeletal digits cupped the woman's throat, searching out her pulse. It was faint, but still present. It was time to extract the battered woman's soul. It was the final act of his offering to commune with his liege.

The demon leaned over his captive, his breath fanning over her mouth. Tendrils of shadow unfurled from his eyelids as his mouth unhinged itself, bearing rows of jagged teeth. He breathed in the woman's irregular exhale. A blue fog emanated from her lips to his. It was a transfer of energy.

It was a transfer of souls.

The woman's fleeting breaths of life were siphoned from her dying lungs. Her skin shriveled and cracked, adhering itself flat against her skeleton.

She was gone.

"Thank you for your sacrifice." The demon didn't care. It was merely a formality; a common courtesy. Her death was collateral damage for a much greater purpose. He cupped his mangled hands over his thin lips and exhaled. A wisp of blue energy furled itself into a sphere. It pulsed with life. If he listened closely, he could almost hear the girl's tormented screams. She would never know true peace. Her soul would be transferred to the old god, her spirit forever under his control. The demon stroked the soul orb with a tentative finger and was tempted to taste it. He decided against it. Speaking to his overlord was a more pressing matter than his appetite for her life essence.

The demon closed his beady black eyes and focused; the demon blood burning with the last of his remaining power. Extracting souls without consuming them directly after took a vast toll on his vile body. His frail form convulsed with prayer, his voice consumed in demonic tongues. He recited a summoning chant at breakneck speed, repeating the incantations repeatedly. The sphere that housed the sacrificed woman's soul faintly drifted away from the demon's palms toward the ceiling of rock. A field of energy radiated from the orb and knocked the demon down to his brittle knees.

He didn't cease the summoning spell. He was determined to, at the very least, converse with his master. It had been centuries of not hearing his voice and sometimes he swore he couldn't recall it at all. It was times such as those in which his faith in the old god was tested. It never truly wavered. Not even for a moment.

The orb emitted a shrill ring that was deafeningly loud. The demon clasped his palms over his ears to stifle the boisterous shriek. It silenced itself before pulsing one last time. The mass of soul suddenly imploded as pieces of life dispersed into shards. The explosion let out a banshee's wail, it's cries bouncing off the walls as if the cave was an echo chamber. The frequency of the sound wave was so violent that a crack splintered in the bed of rock below the demon's feet where the slain women's cadaverous body lay. The ground fractured, a cracking sound emanating from deep within, like a fissure forcing open the depths of a lake frozen over with ice. The bed of rock caved in and swallowed the woman's body in with it. It looked like a sinkhole that led straight into the underworld or into some long ago forgotten path into another realm.

The demon scurried into the depression, searching amongst the rubble for a sign. What he found made his breath hitch. A door made wholly of fluorite stood in front of him. It was the only barrier that stood between him and his master; between this plane and the next. He placed his lips delicately against its magically inhibitory surface, his lips singeing with blisters.

"Oh, my lord. I've finally found you after all these years." The demon attempted to open the door. It didn't budge. The magical bindings that kept his master imprisoned were stronger than the crystals he had easily destroyed above. Their magic had, for the most part, stood the test of time. The demon sighed, his shoulders hunched in deflation.

He didn't expect the gentle rumbling that stirred him from his dejected thoughts. Something was awakening. And that something...was _him._

"M-master? Is that you?" The demon's voice was tentative with hope. A booming, omnipresent voice pierced through the rubble.

 _Yes, my child. You have risen me from my slumber._ The demon couldn't contain his excitement as he cried out in joy. Numerous prayers to the old god escaped his lips.

 _You've done well. Your faith has remained and endured where so many others had abandoned it. You shall be rewarded for such fearsome loyalty, Abraxas._

Abraxas cried, black tears streaming down his face. He hadn't heard his given name in so long. It was overwhelming. He touched his fel iron ring, forged specially for him by his master in demon fire, and kissed it. This moment was just as much as a gift as the piece of jewelry.

 _Open your palms and accept a gift. A small taste of my power that I've been accumulating all these centuries. You shall be in need of it in the times to come._

Sand escaped from a minuscule hole in the wall adjacent to the door. It trickled out painfully slow. The grains collected themselves into a pile before animating in swirls that wrapped around Abraxas' cloaked body. He opened his mouth, ready to accept whatever gift he was about to be bestowed. It invaded his airways and embedded itself into his lungs where it absorbed into his ancient bloodstream. He started to levitate, his frail body overcome with violent energy.

It was over as quickly as it had started. He felt different; like he has metamorphized into something more untouchably formidable. Demon fire licked at his veins, ready to be released at his command. His master had truly blessed him. "Thank you, master. Your gifts are always bountiful to those who serve."

 _Your work is not yet complete, my child. You've only broken a minor part of this horrid spell that binds me so._

"What else do I need to do? Ask of me what you will, and I will do it in your name."

 _I require a witch. A direct descendant from one of the harpies that banished me to this realm. Your ilk has been following him. Secure the boy. Only he can break it._

Abraxas was befuddled, his hairless brows furrowing together. "But how will I get the witch to break the spell on his own accord?" His ring warmed in response.

 _Your ring, my child. Persuade him to wear it and his powers will diminish. Abduct him and manipulate his affections for the wolf. He cannot evade the trap of love. They seldom do._

"Yes, master. As you command."

 _Go. Carry out your master's will and return to me with the boy witch in tow._

Abraxas clamored his way out of the debris, a smug smile playing at his lips. This encounter had gone much more fruitful than he had ever anticipated.

Nal'Gazoth, the Harbinger of Death and Destroyer of Worlds, would soon be liberated from the chains that bound him.

And Abraxas would be the one to do it.

 **AN: I decided to dedicate a whole chapter the other side. It just felt weird to suddenly go back to Klaine after all that. Sorry for the sadism! I wanted to establish how twisted the bad guys are. Now that the antagonists are introduced, I can focus more on the budding relationships between our lovely Klaine. As always, I love and welcome reviews and constructive critiques. 3**


	13. Chapter 13

"You know, Wyoming is such a breathtaking state for a place no one ever makes a point to actively talk about." Kurt mused out loud, his eyes peering out of the speckled car window. Wyoming truly was beautiful; an oasis of lush green and crystalline bodies of water. The yieldly blades of grass had begun to fade into an array of polychromatic hues. The Rocky Mountains surged toward the skyline, their peaks capped with a coat of snowy white. It was the quintessential scenic vista that all the postcards seemed to boast of. The land seemed of a different time. Other than the asphalt road, this side of the country was left virtually untouched. Kurt hadn't seen a house or any other sign of civilization for what seemed like miles. Only a vast stretch of road that seemed to be a mirage of endlessness sat in front of him.

The only company he kept was himself, Blaine, and the rumbling from the worn pick-up truck.

It was comforting to have such a faithful companion, even if the circumstances were not as ideal as Kurt hoped. He particularly enjoyed sneaking glances at the beautiful man in the driver seat from under his eyelashes. They've been driving for a few days now and Kurt had an ample number of chances to covertly ogle the other man. Blaine's side profile was as easy on the eyes as the picturesque summits that hugged the horizon. Kurt had to admit that the raven-haired man's visage of focus was incredibly arousing. Sometimes he liked to wonder if their paths would have ever crossed outside of this prophecy nonsense and if their relationship would have been any different. Kurt was itching for something more substantial and romantic. He had an inkling that Blaine felt the same as the aura between them seemed to crepitate with electricity. Kurt was certain he wasn't the only one who felt it. He just wanted the other man to abandon his persistent facade of indifference.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Blaine's gruff baritone cut through Kurt's thoughts. "The mountains."

"Absolutely." Kurt wasn't staring at the mountain range. Stunning as they were, his gaze was directed unabashedly at the man beside him. The summit outside simply paled in comparison to Blaine. Kurt could stare at him for hours. Days, even. He could get lost in those two golden orbs of Blaine's. It was frightening how much Kurt wanted to meticulously memorize every minute detail of his face. Blaine's many beauty marks that graced his expression uncannily resembled constellations that were scattered across the night sky. Kurt longed to trace his fingers to keep track of all their interconnected sequences. To Kurt, Blaine was akin to a celestial object; discernible to the naked eye yet so irrevocably out his reach. Blaine was just as mysterious as the vast expanse of space that hung above their heads in the heavens. Kurt wondered how he could possibly bridge the distance that remained between them; to ground the divide between the celestial and the earthly. He pondered if such a union would be even possible at all. Were witches and lycans even permitted to intermix? It was a topic that was never quite breached.

"Does the creature community have racism like humans do?" Kurt presented his question innocently, his ulterior motive disguising itself as curiosity. "Especially considering that race, in humans that is, is a made up social category. But creatures are quite literally different species so to speak." Blaine pondered for a moment, his lips puckering in concentration.

"I'd say so, yeah. There's a quite a bit of bad blood between the different sects. It's an unspoken rule to stick to your own kind." Blaine shifted in the tattered seat, the worn leather wrinkling under his impressive weight. He looked uncomfortable, like what he had said left something personally unresolved. "I don't believe that anymore, though. Not like I used to. I believe we're stronger together."

Kurt inspected his cuticles as he thought of what to say. He settled on another question. He seemed to be filled the brim with those nowadays. "What changed?"

Blaine stiffened, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. He relaxed in resignation after a few brief moments. "You. You changed it, Kurt." Kurt's heart soared, his brain beginning to envelop in fanciful waves of pleasure. "When Santana showed me her vision, I knew it was my destiny to meet you. To do so, I had to overcome my own prejudices that were ingrained into me since childhood. And here we are."

"So here we are." Kurt repeated his response, concluding the slight admission from Blaine. It was a tiny gesture of disclosure from the raven-haired man, but it was all that Kurt had needed in this precise moment. Kurt shifted toward the middle seat, intimately advancing into Blaine's personal space. He rested his head on the reserved driver's shoulder, his hair brushing up against the bearded neck. Blaine inhaled deeply, relishing at the scent that Kurt's proximity provided. "Thank you, Blaine. For everything. I'd be lost and somewhere dead in a ditch if it weren't for you." His tone was sincere with gratitude for the lycan.

"You're welcome, Kurt. You've saved me as much as I've saved you. Remember that." Blaine angled his head over and planted an innocent kiss on the top of Kurt's head. His lips seared with unspoken fervor. All the words he didn't want to say yet were infused into that brief kiss. They persisted in that same position for as long as Kurt's neck muscles would allow.

The pale man slithered back over to the passenger seat, satisfied that he enabled another slight crack in Blaine's armor. Sometimes it felt like Blaine, similarly to his massive frame, was all but a fortress. A citadel that vigorously defended itself from displaying any notion of emotional and physical vulnerability. His heart and mind were heavily guarded, and Kurt speculated whether he would ever able to infiltrate Blaine's defenses completely. He was only ever successful at getting in no more than a few cracks at a time. Kurt would continue to do so, piece by piece, until all of Blaine's walls crumbled in their entirety. Blaine was worth it.

Kurt breathed and let the brief conversation stagnate into silence. A sudden desire to continue his research sprang upon him a few moments after. Pale hands grasped toward the bag that sat on the floor of the truck, fishing through its contents for Sarah Wilde's journal. He hadn't touched it since the library, not since he was sucked into that vision. Kurt's hesitant fingers stroked the worn spine of the book as nerves silently crept down his spine. Kurt wondered what he would see again, if anything at all. His pink tongue darted how to wet his lips before his front teeth softly bit into them. Kurt was everything and anything but a coward. Besides, the journal could have information that could prove to be useful. The binding of pages sighed, softer than it had in the library when Kurt first opened the cover.

Nothing strange occurred. Kurt couldn't precisely determine why that disappointed him. The feeling of being afforded a glimpse into the past was scarily foreign yet so exhilaratingly rewarding. Kurt suspected the ladder triumphed over his fear of peeking into history by magical means. The book was still for the moment and did not give way to any more enchanted surprises. Kurt turned the page to read another passage of what Sarah had written all those years ago. What he found was remarkably simple and predictably so.

Met with Bridget Bishop

Traded jam for tobacco

Sewed breaches

Prayed with children

It was a list of actions; a simple and uncomplicatedly straightforward diary entry. Although rare for women of the colonial period to know how to read or write, this type of truncated speech was common. A woman's duty never seemed to stray beyond familial and domestic limitations. Kurt, as knowledgeable as he was in his field, knew that that simply wasn't factual. A colonial woman's work was much more insidious; operating within the shadows to avoid the patriarchal eyes that surveilled their every move. The sheer bravery and wit these witches must have had to even risk their lives for gathering together made Kurt's hands shake. He licked his finger to grip the corner of the page to turn to the opposing side.

What Kurt did not anticipate was the light that caught itself across the aged parchment.

He angled the page toward the window, alternating it back and forth in different directions. The witch had to ensure it was strictly a trick of light. The pit that formed in his stomach said otherwise. The page illuminated itself like holograph; the light flickering texts on and off depending on which angle you held it at. Kurt felt the illumination, wondering what it could possibly be. Had the library used a holographic stamp? It seemed unlikely as Kurt hadn't ever heard of such a tool. He was certain nothing of the sort existed. _It's an enchantment, Kurt. Use your third eye._ The shadows unfurled from one of the many crevices in Kurt's mind. They had finally decided to reveal themselves once more.

The middle of Kurt's forehead seared in response. He looked at the page to inspect it further. The original text was technically still present but was ultimately faded into unrecognizability. It was replaced by the holographic words that were previously only visible in certain positions of light. It was a palimpsest; but only it's original text was painted over with magic and not simply other words. Sarah Wilde was one cunning witch. To the unsuspecting eye, this specific journal entry looked like any other from that time period. Only it was so much more than mere recollections of trivial actions and pursuits.

It was a recipe for a banishing spell.

 _Met with Bridget and secured herbs for banishing spell_

 _Birch, Cloves, Marigold, Thistle, Witch Hazel and Mugwort_

 _Charmed Charles the blacksmith for Fluorite_

 _Met with rest of coven on night of new moon to enact the spell_

Kurt held his hand to his gaping mouth. The marrow in his bones ached; they seemed to be advising him that this was an important development. It wasn't everyday a scholar found such a cleverly disguised account of history. Kurt was briefly saddened that the idea of superstition, the very basis his work was founded on, was a moot academic premise. The women accused of witchcraft in Salem really were bonafide herb-gathering, coven-going, spell-casting witches. It wasn't just the spectacle of rumored witchcraft anymore. It was the cold, hard, and unforgiving truth. Kurt still didn't know how to fully process this. He snuck a glance at Blaine. The lycan was blissfully unaware of the academic existential crisis Kurt was enduring through. His golden eyes were just as focused on the road as they always had been for the past few days.

A glister of light suddenly glimmered from the corner of the page. He closed his eyes, too afraid of what was going to happen. Kurt placed a tentative fingertip upon the sparkles that seemed to jump off the page.

He regretted it immediately.

The air around him crinkled and deflated; like it was being siphoned forward into a vacuum chamber. He felt his limbs stretch as prickles of numbness stabbed at his skin. He tried to scream. The sound waves were absent as they withered away into silence. Kurt opened his eyes and saw a vast expanse of nothing; an abyssal void of immaterial.

Not a trace of life existed here. The only entity that was apparent in this realm was the suspension of time. Kurt was plummeting into nihility. There was no edge of life to grasp onto and no anchor to affix to amidst the sensation of free-falling Kurt was currently experiencing.

He was panicking. The only thing that settled amongst the turmoil of his mind was his last thoughts before this seemingly transcendental experience.

Sarah Wilde's journal.

Kurt closed his eyes and prayed. For what or to who he did not know. A tear escaped out of sheer fear. It suspended itself over his face instead of falling down the apple of his cheek. The teardrop floated and enclosed into a sphere before being swallowed by shadows. The murky tendrils of darkness lapped around Kurt's body, its chaotic energy clawing at his skin. He felt a zap before an unexpected _whoosh._

Kurt's body materialized in an utterly unrecognizable place. He was situated in the corner of what seemed to be a rustic log cabin. It wasn't nearly as romantic as the early American mythology suggested it was. The floor was nothing more than packed dirt, with dried clay and grass wedged between the blanks of wood. It was drafty due to the lack of adequate insulation. The only potential source of warmth was the crude, unlit fireplace directly parallel to the door. A cauldron, cast iron by the looks of it, sat on a stand above the cooled coals. A rickety, Windsor rocking chair was nestled into the corner, a pair of knitting needles strewn across a wooden end table. A makeshift wooden platform acted as the basis of a bed, it's mattress no more than hay enclosed in sewn cloth. Herbs hung from the ceiling, the moisture from their stems drying out. Kurt heard an irresistible and gentle hum; a siren's song calling out to the magic that ran through his blood. It was a book. A grimoire, to be exact. It was the same one from the vision he'd seen in the library. It's tattered edges leaking with ancient incantations.

The shaky oak door suddenly opened, dust motes being propelled into the musty air of the cabin. Two women walked in and convened in the meager foyer. They were dressed in cotton petticoats, a style of dress popular for common folk in early colonial America. Kurt blanched, wracking his brain to come up with an excuse as to why he was in their house.

"Look, I don't know why I'm here. I'm not some creeper, I swear. I just appeared out of thin air." Admittedly, he did not sound convincing. Not even at all. He was a stranger in a strange place and these women would recognize him as such. The two women stared at each, their eyes serious. They didn't pay attention to Kurt at all.

"I had another premonition last night, Sarah. The bonds are weakening with each waking day. The coven needs to do something. And fast." The woman with the auburn hair sounded shaken. She turned towards the table where the grimoire rested.

Kurt gasped. She was a spitting image of his late mother. Apart from the brows, Kurt resembled her wholly. It was like looking in a mirror.

"I agree, Bridget. Something doesn't feel right. We'll have to gather up the girls and do a ceremony."

"This is no time for idle ceremonies, sister. Time is of the essence and it is a luxury that we cannot afford to have." She snapped her fingers, the pages of the tattered tome spinning to life. "There has to be something the ancestors left us in this wretched book."

Sarah placed a gentle hand on Bridget's shoulder. "There isn't. No one knows who placed the old god in chains. Or how for that matter. He was imprisoned long before our people even set sail for this god-forsaken land." She paused, trying to decide how best to manifest her thoughts into words. "The magic involved is too ancient for any of us to comprehend, let alone replicate. I'm afraid the only thing we can do is attempt to prolong the inevitable." Resignation hung heavy in the air as both woman's shoulders hunched forward in defeat.

"Where there's a will, there's a way. And I'm nothing if not a willful bitch of a woman." Bridget had a scorching spitfire that laced her sharp tongue. Kurt liked her. She was the type of women feminist historians dreamed of. He leaned in toward the women. Bridget glanced up from the grimoire and squinted. It was as if she knew Kurt was there somehow, like there was some disturbance in the air that the pale man had brought with him. Her perceptive sea-stained eyes glanced around the room before settling back into the pages of the tome, her desperate hands searching for a spell that would work.

Kurt let out a breath he wasn't aware his was holding.

"This could work...although we'll have to tweak it. We have the herbs for it." Sarah Wilde leaned over, her black hair spilling over in curls. Her green eyes lit up.

"I'd be obliged to agree. Good work, Bridget. This is going take the whole coven. Every ounce of witch power we've got, I reckon." Sarah was concerned, her hands wringing in trepidation and rightfully so. A spell of this magnitude was bound to attract a host of unwanted attention; human and creature alike. She briefly wondered if the astronomical risk was worth the consequences that were bound to occur. Bridget eyed Sarah's calculative posture.

"It's worth it, Sarah. You know it is. Deep down in the pit of that thing you call a soul." Bridget poke her finger at the crevice between Sarah's breasts for emphasis. "It may only hold for a few centuries, but so be it. I've already devised a contingency plan as we speak." She tapped the grimoire. "It's our only line of defense against Nal'ga-."

"Don't." Sarah held up her hands, a silencing spell rolling off her fingertips. Bridget's lips slammed shut, her eyes peeved. "Don't speak his name. It only gives him more power. And that's the last thing any of us need right now." Bridget nodded reluctantly. This was no time for her stubborn streak to rear its ugly head. "Now tell me about this contingency plan." Their conversation fell to a hush, their heads crammed together in concentration as they poured over the grimoire. After a few moments they began to write with a quill stained with black ink. Sarah took out a journal, her journal, which was fresh with supple leather. It looked much newer than the one Kurt was currently in possession of.

Before he could peer over their shoulders, swirling tendrils of darkness unfolded from the corner. Their coils wrapped around Kurt's limbs, pulling him backward. Before he could process what was happening, the shadows of time siphoned him through the portal of void; away from the cabin and away from any perceptive sense of space or time.

He wafted in the darkness and let the paralysis consume him. Kurt thought of one thing and one thing only. The only person in his current life who protected him; the only person who made him feel both whole and at home.

He thought of Blaine.

 **Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a lot less dark than the previous one. And yes, Kurt did technically time travel. I thought it would be cool and add some drama for the next chapter. As for the next chapter, I don't know when it will be up. School starts back up in a few days, so I'll be super busy. I'll try to write when I can. Anyways, reviews and critiques are always welcome.**

 **P.S. don't judge me for the commentary on Wyoming. I'm sure it's a lovely place. Are the Rockies even visible from the highways? Lol**


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